


Set the Skies Ablaze

by cywscross



Category: K (Anime), Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dimension Travel, Gen, Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn't take long for HOMRA to notice the nondescript man in the bar corner who always arrives at six and never stays a second past seven. But regular patrons aren’t that uncommon so they leave him alone… until he stops a kidnapping attempt on their youngest member one day. Then it gets personal – they’ve got to repay him after all. Too bad the man refuses to cooperate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Katekyo Hitman Reborn or K-Project.

  **~September, 1 st Day~**

 

                “Welcome!”  Izumo called out, amicably polite per usual as a brown-haired man of average height pushed his way into the bar.

 

                Wearing a slightly rumpled long-sleeved white shirt, black pants, and a tired air about him, the brunet dipped his head in greeting, plain brown eyes meeting his briefly before meandering over to the far end of HOMRA and taking a seat in the darkened corner.

 

                “A Talisker 10 single malt whisky please,” The man requested.  “Straight up.”

 

                Izumo inclined his head wordlessly, reaching for a glass.  Some of his customers came in for both a drink and a friendly ear but this man didn't seem like he was up for conversation so Izumo only prepared the drink with practised hands before sliding it over to the brunet.

 

                He received a wan smile and a nod of thanks before the man tuned him out and Izumo was soon distracted by a few more customers trekking in through the door.

 

                In the next hour, Izumo mixed drinks, showed one man just how bad an idea it was to try to skulk out without paying, and yelled at Yata and Rikio when they tumbled in through the doors, knocking over two stools and a table as the younger idiot held the older idiot in a chokehold for no discernible reason.

 

                Just another day in the crazy-ass life of Kusanagi Izumo.

 

                “Thank you.”

 

                Izumo blinked and turned from where he had been glowering at his two fellow Clansmen into obedience and found the brunet from before standing in front of him, the now-empty glass clinking onto the countertop and a few bills beside it.

 

                “Ah, no problem,” Izumo swept up the cash, a single glance ensuring the proper amount for both the first drink and the refill that the man had ordered, along with a nice tip to top it off.  “Have a good evening.  Please come again.”

 

                The brunet nodded, already turning away, and padded out the door without a backwards glance.

 

                Absently checking the clock, Izumo noted another hour before he could close up, and then was promptly distracted when the door was pushed open again and  Mikoto strolled in, hands stuck lazily in his pockets and Anna trotting beside him, one hand clutching the King’s sleeve.

 

                “Welcome back, Mikoto, Anna,” He greeted warmly, smiling at the latter before scanning his long-time friend surreptitiously.  It didn't look like the redhead had gotten into a fight today.

 

                Mikoto made a sound at the back of his throat and took his place on his couch with Anna settling down beside him, quirking the faintest of smiles when Rikio nodded a stoic hello and Yata leapt up and began rambling a mile a minute about his day.

 

                Izumo smiled as he polished a wineglass.  In another ten minutes, if Tatara wasn’t back yet, he’d send one of them out to find the wayward Clansman who had probably gotten distracted again while out buying groceries.

 

**~September, 2 nd Day~**

 

                He was back again.

 

                When Izumo had said “please come again”, he hadn't expected to see the brunet the very next night, sitting in the same corner, and nursing the same drink.

 

He glanced at the clock – hadn't the man arrived at around six yesterday as well?

 

He mentally shrugged and turned when one of the other customers called for a gin and tonic.  It was none of his business – maybe his bar had gotten another regular.  Always a good thing in his book.

 

                At six-fifty, Tatara’s somewhat panicked and extremely contrite voice sounded from the kitchen in the back.  “Izumo-san!  I think I might need more than one fire extinguisher!”

 

                Izumo exhaled noisily but started filling a bucket of water even as he smiled apologetically at the few customers looking at him in alarm before shooting pointed looks at Shohei and Kousuke, who had both been in the process of sneaking out the door.  Both grimaced but rolled up their sleeves and headed into the back.

 

 _One of these days_ , Izumo thought as he lugged the water into the kitchen and prepared himself for the disaster that he would undoubtedly be walking into.  _I'm going to finally get around to buying Tatara his own kitchen so he can go and destroy_ that _one._

 

Several minutes and a rather heated reprimand towards Tatara later (why was it _always_ his bar?), he returned to the front and found a single glass on the counter with a small pile of money beside it.  His gaze slid to the bar corner and found it empty.  Checking the clock as he picked up both items, he arched an eyebrow.

 

Huh.  Seven o’clock, right on the dot.

 

**~September, 6 th Day~**

 

                Six o’clock sharp – Izumo had been watching, if only to sate his curiosity.  Either this guy was obssessively punctual or he only had this hour of free time to spend enjoying a drink and didn't want to waste it.

 

                He found himself reaching for the Talisker whisky even before the brunet opened his mouth, and the drink was soon placed neatly in front of him.

 

                “Enjoy,” Izumo tagged on with a slight smile.

 

                The man looked a bit surprised.  They had never really exchanged much more than a few words that very first time five days ago, and never during the hour that the brunet was here.

 

                A crooked smile soon replaced the mildly startled expression.  “Thank you.”

 

                And that was that.

 

                An hour later, the man got up, paid, and left, but this time with a cordial nod goodnight.

 

**~September, 8 th Day~**

 

                “Ne, Izumo-san, that guy’s been here a few times before, right?”  Tatara murmured as he peeked furtively at the brown-haired man sitting at the other end of the bar.

 

                “Hmm?”  The blond followed his gaze and nodded.  “Aa, every day last week from six to seven.  Always orders a single malt.  He’s a bit... strange.”

 

                Tatara tilted his head thoughtfully, eyeing the slightly hunched frame and downcast eyes.  “Maa, we don’t have much room to talk, Izumo-san.”

 

                As if on cue, they both turned in time to see Yata growling at Rikio like some sort of vaguely deranged but undeniably offended overgrown puppy.

 

                “I suppose there’s some truth in that,” Izumo agreed with a resigned look.

 

                Tatara laughed softly before shifting to glance back at the brunet still staring into his drink as if it held the secrets of the universe.

 

                “...He looks lonely,” He remarked lightly.

 

                Izumo shot him a swift unreadable look.  “Most people who turn to alcohol for answers usually are.”

 

                Tatara smiled a little sadly at the older man.  “Mm, I know that.  Still, he looks... _really_ lonely.”

 

                This time, he found himself on the receiving end of an exasperated stare.  “Sometimes, you’re too soft, Tatara.  Every time I turn around, you’ve brought in another stray.  Let’s draw the line at grown men who only come here to _forget_ their troubles, okay?  Not everyone wants to talk.”

 

                Tatara pouted at Izumo but relented with a reluctant nod when HOMRA’s Second pinned him with a stern gaze.  He snuck another fleeting glance over at the brunet.

 

                He wasn't sure how to help this one anyway.  All the ‘strays’ he had been in charge of welcoming into the Clan were all the same age he was or younger, and Tatara had always had a knack for understanding what they were feeling.

 

                This one though was at least his King’s age, maybe even Izumo’s, and there was something truly heavy weighing him down.

 

                Dark brown eyes flashed up and Tatara jumped guiltily when the man caught him staring.  He grinned sheepishly and waved amicably, ignoring Izumo’s put-upon sigh behind him.

 

                However, the stranger merely nodded back politely before returning to his half-finished drink once more.

 

                Five minutes later, at six-fifty-nine, the man rose to his feet, downed the last drops of his alcohol, before making his way over.

 

                Izumo, Tatara noticed, had also automatically moved forward to receive the money that the brunet dropped into his palm.

 

                “Goodnight,” Izumo called as the man turned away.  This earned a half-smile.

 

                 “’Night,” The stranger replied, and then disappeared out the door and into the fading light of the sunset.

 

                Tatara turned to look at the clock.  Seven o’clock stared back at him.

 

**~September, 13 th Day~**

 

                “Do you only drink Talisker?”  Izumo mused as he set the whisky down in front of his six-to-seven regular.

 

                The man blinked blearily up at him before an oddly rueful smile tipped his mouth upwards.  “I worked in Italy for quite a number of years and one of my… friends preferred Talisker.  I didn't like it at first but…”

 

                He shrugged, raising the glass in a mock-toast.  “It’s an acquired taste I suppose.”

 

                Izumo said nothing more after that, only nodding goodbye when the brunet left for the night.

 

                He knew nostalgia when he saw it.

 

**~September, 15 st Day~**

 

                “Who’s he?”  Mikoto started without preamble as he leaned back against the counter.  True to form, his long-time friend barely needed to glance at the man in question before answering.

 

                “Regular,” Izumo replied, keeping his voice pitched low.  He didn't disclose anything else.

 

                Mikoto raised an eyebrow, observing the rather slim-framed man sitting by himself.  “HOMRA?”

 

                Izumo shook his head.  “Hasn’t even mentioned it.  He’s hardly even looked at any of us.  Except Tatara, but that was only because the idiot was staring.”

 

                Mikoto grunted in acknowledgement and didn't push the issue, but his attention remained on the brunet.  There was something there, something powerful simmering under the worn clothing and weariness that almost reminded Mikoto of himself.

 

**~September, 18 th Day~**

 

                “Do you come here right after work?”  Izumo queried.  “I've never seen anyone as punctual as you.”

 

                The man paused, drink cupped in his hands.  “Something like that.  Sometimes, I get off early and walk around a bit before heading over here for a drink.”

 

                “Do you time yourself?”  Izumo probed inquisitively.  “Step foot into my bar right at six?”

 

                This garnered a bewildered look before the brunet turned to blink at the clock.  “Oh.”

 

                Izumo stared dubiously at the man.  “You didn't know?”

 

                The brunet shrugged.  “I had a tutor once.  Always be prompt, he said.  Too early could seem too eager or too concerned about image, too late could have dire consequences.  Of course, he also said keeping an unchanging schedule could have bad results as well.  Eventually, it just became habit for me to arrive everywhere at exactly the time I want.”

 

                Izumo sweatdropped.  “What kind of tutor did you have?”

 

                The man grinned at him, self-deprecating amusement clear on his face.  “The worst kind.  And the best kind.”

 

**~September, 21 st Day~**

 

                “Jack of Diamonds,” Izumo said smugly.

 

                The brunet scowled and tossed down the card he had chosen, the Jack of Diamonds staring back up at them.

 

                “You’re cheating,” The man accused almost sulkily.

 

                Izumo bit the inside of his cheek to hide the laughter threatening to burst from his throat.  “You’ve tested me eleven times – how exactly am I cheating?”

 

                “I don’t know, but you are,” The brunet grumbled stoutly.  “You are _not_ psychic.”

 

                Izumo couldn't help huffing a laugh this time.  “I don’t know why you’re complaining.  You predicted all the cards I chose.”

 

                The man looked embarrassed, and Izumo figured he would make about as good a poker player as Tatara – that is to say, very bad.

 

                “Yeah, but I-” The brunet rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish.

 

                Izumo sighed in exasperation.  “Magicians don’t reveal their secrets, you know.  And all’s fair when you’re performing magic tricks.”

 

                The man looked amused now, and then pushed the deck across the counter.  "Predicting cards is all I'm good for.  You said you know a lot of card tricks, right?  Show me something else?”

 

                Izumo glanced around the bar, quickly taking two orders first before returning to the brunet and proceeding to flip the cards into the air with nimble fingers.

 

 _For someone who had such a jaded air about him when he first entered my bar_ , Izumo reflected as he watched the shorter man lean forward with eager anticipation.  _He can look a lot like a child over something so simple._

 

**~September, 24 th Day~**

 

                “There’s been talk about something that can nullify Auras, Mikoto.”

 

                Arms still tucked under his head as he lied on the couch, Mikoto turned his head slightly, the only indication that he had heard Izumo.  As always, the blond didn't let this deter him.

 

                “Black flames of some sort.  I don’t know the source, but someone’s distributing the power amongst the yakuza like candy.  I hear it’s not all that strong at the moment though.  My guess is that they still have to learn how to use it.  But either way, a few of Scepter 4’s members had a run-in with those flames.  Three of them are dead; two more are in the hospital – one’s still in a coma.”

 

                Mikoto stared at the ceiling.  Black flames?  “What happened to the ones who were killed?”

 

                Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a heavy frown cross Izumo’s brow.

 

                “Crushed,” The bartender reported in a flat tone.  “Like they were caught in an explosion, but not burned.  Their surroundings looked like it had been bombed as well.  There were no traces of where the attackers had gone.”

 

                Mikoto said nothing for a long moment.  Knowing Izumo, the blond had probably gotten his information from Munakata’s lieutenant.  How their friendship worked, he had no clue, but it wasn't damaging to their Clan and actually benefitted HOMRA quite a bit so he had no complaints.

 

                Still, this could pose a problem.  Was the target Scepter 4 or all the Clans?  Seeing as it was yakuza, they’d most likely use this opportunity to crack down on both the police force and anyone else who had had a hand in leashing them, which mostly meant HOMRA.

 

                “Keep an eye out,” He said at last.  “Make sure the others know not to engage until we know more.”

 

                Mostly, that meant Yata, who was as violent as Mikoto himself and five times more hotheaded.

 

                Izumo nodded silently and then turned when the door swung open.

 

                “Ah, welcome!  How was work?”

 

                Mikoto didn't need to look up at either the customer or the clock to know who had just come in.  Nevertheless, he observed the brunet taking a seat and responding to something Izumo had said, reserved and quiet per usual.

 

(But underneath that unassuming skin, nothing had changed – the whisper of power still brushed against Mikoto’s ears.  Over the past few weeks, on occasion, he had even entertained the idea of asking the brunet how he managed to control it so well, nothing like the increasingly uncontainable urge that Mikoto had, straining against his control.)

 

                He was fairly certain that the two didn't even know one another’s name, and while Izumo was careful to keep all exchanges on banal matters only, there was no doubt that the two had become friends.

 

                His gaze drifted to the sleight of hand Izumo was executing with five cards and an enigmatic smile, and wondered if he should be jealous.

 

                He surveyed the tense line of the brunet’s shoulders and the weary edge in the man’s slowly brightening half-smile again before rolling away onto his side and leaving them to it.

 

He’d never been one for jealousy anyway.

 

**~September, 27 th Day~**

 

                “Your friends call you ‘Kusanagi-san’, right?”

 

                Izumo looked up from the table he had been wiping down.  This was unexpected.  He was typically the one who started their short-lived conversations.  And so far, they had gotten along perfectly fine without knowing the other’s name.

 

                “Aa,” He dried his hands as he made his way over and offered a hand.  The brunet arched an eyebrow before smiling a little and shaking it.  “Kusanagi Izumo, pleased to meet you.  Properly.”

 

                The man tilted his head back, and for a split second, Izumo thought he caught a sliver of orange in those ordinary brown eyes.  He blinked, and it was gone, if it had ever been there in the first place.

 

                “Sawada Tsunayoshi,” The brunet divulged quietly.  “Pleased to meet you too.”

 

**~September, 29 th Day~**

 

                “Kusanagi-san, couldn't you just close up early?”  Yata called from across the room.  “It’s raining buckets – no one in their right mind would be out there right now, much less heading out for a drink.”

 

                Izumo glanced reproachfully at the feet Yata had propped up on the table and the skateboarder hastily lowered them back to the ground.

 

                “I close at seven on Sundays,” Izumo refused adamantly, putting away a few clean plates.  Admittedly, Yata had a point.  He hadn't had a single customer since four that afternoon and, instead, the entire Clan had ended up crashing at the bar once the rain became too much.

 

                But it was almost six, and while Izumo still knew next to nothing about Sawada Tsunayoshi, his bar’s six-to-seven regular instinctively struck him as someone who _would_ be just that side of insane to walk around in this awful weather.

 

                “Izumo-san is waiting for his new friend,” Tatara piped up teasingly from one of the couches, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a mug of hot chocolate in his hands.

 

                Izumo was hard-pressed not to roll his eyes.  “He’s just a paying customer, Tatara.”

 

                Tatara grinned impishly, holding up one finger.  “Then how did you know I was talking about him?”

 

                “And how would you know he’s who I have in mind?”  Izumo countered calmly even as he inwardly slapped himself for walking straight into that one.

 

                Before Tatara could shoot back a playful retort or any of the others could get any more confused, a shadow outside the windows flitted at the corner of his eye and Izumo turned in time to see the familiar brunet ease the door open and step inside.

 

                For a long moment, Sawada stalled in the doorway and scanned the bar while every HOMRA member stared back at him without even trying to pretend not to.

 

                Izumo released a short sigh.  Honestly, was that any way to treat a customer?

 

                Not to mention the man was dripping all over his floor.

 

                “Do you not have an umbrella?  Or a jacket?”  Izumo asked as he snagged a clean towel and came around the counter, curbing his tone so that it wouldn't sound like he was scolding the brunet.  Maybe he had spent too much time keeping the peace amongst the Clan and it had slowly turned him into a semi-mother-hen.

 

                …It was not a comforting thought.  That should be Tatara’s job.

 

                Then again, Izumo was the one who nagged people to remember their coats when they were going out and for Mikoto and Tatara to keep their rooms clean, not to mention he made sure Anna had three meals a day and a snack in the afternoon (because that girl wouldn't ask for anything herself or forget entirely)...

 

                He should just stop thinking about it.  It was better for his mental health.

 

                Sawada cocked his head and caught the towel tossed at him without difficulty, proceeding to dry off his hair, which had flattened under the downpour outside and the longer strands were now plastered against his neck and forehead.  He looked a bit like a drowned cat.

 

A glint of silver momentarily distracted Izumo.  He had seen the two different-sized rings on the brunet’s right hand before but he still had no idea why they were connected with a silver chain.  It was an odd design, not to mention inconvenient if it got caught on anything.

 

                “Left them back at my apartment this morning,” The man was saying.  “Sorry, are you- closed?”

 

                Izumo blinked, briefly perplexed, and then glanced over his shoulder at all the morons _still_ staring avidly at them like they were some sort of circus sideshow (though to be fair, Mikoto had only taken a cursory glance at the newcomer before closing his eyes again, and Anna, perched beside their King, was looking at Sawada’s rings with strange intensity instead).

 

Sooner or later, even people who came to his bar and didn't actually know what the Red Clan really was more or less realized that there was a certain group of teens and adults who came and went like they lived here, so it wasn't so surprising that the man was uncertain of his welcome at the moment what with all of HOMRA gathered together.

 

Izumo shot his Clan a pointed look (in vain) before turning back and shaking his head wryly.

 

                “Nah, come on in,” Izumo gestured towards the counter.  “Shoes off, preferably.  The usual?”

 

                “Yes, please,” Sawada dutifully toed off his shoes before padding after him and taking a seat in his usual corner, towel now draped over the stool instead.  Apparently, the man knew Izumo well enough by now to foresee the consequences of ruining the bar in any way (Who wouldn't?  He had to yell at at least five different people every week for threatening to forcibly rearrange his bar’s structural design).

 

                Izumo thoroughly approved of the brunet’s mindset though and thought it prudent not to inform Sawada that he didn't really mind a bit of unavoidable water.

 

                “Just got off work?”  He enquired instead as he prepared the drink.

 

                Perhaps it was the fact that the brunet was doing an admirable job of ignoring the prying eyes at the far end of the room and Izumo had always prided himself on maintaining a bar that everyone who came would feel welcome in (which certainly wasn't the case right now), but making small talk might divert his customer’s attention and relax him a bit.

 

                “Half an hour ago,” The man revealed easily.  “Thought I’d drop by to see if you had closed up for the day yet.”

 

                “I close at seven on Sundays,” Izumo repeated his earlier words.  He paused, gaze flickering to the drenched clothing Sawada was wearing.  “You going home after this?”

 

                To his surprise, the brunet shook his head, knocking back half the glass of whisky.  “Got another job to get to.”

 

                Izumo slanted a look over his shoulder as he stooped to pick up a washcloth that had fallen to the floor.  Two jobs?  Was Sawada tight for money?  Well, the man’s clothes were on the shabby side but Izumo could tell that they were a good brand.

 

                “Stand up,” Izumo instructed.

 

                Sawada raised his eyebrows doubtfully but indulged him after a few seconds, slipping off the stool again to stand in front of the counter.

 

Izumo examined him critically.  The brunet really was almost a full head shorter than Izumo was, standing just above Tatara’s height, and that was mostly because of the gravity-defying hair.  Izumo heaved a sigh.  “My clothes aren’t going to fit you.”

 

Sawada blinked, and then leapt in with a hasty protest.  “Ah, it’s fine!  I’ll be working in the rain anyway.”

 

Izumo was tempted to ask just what Sawada did for a living but refrained.  Instead he pointed out, “You’ll catch a cold.”

 

Sawada directed a lopsided smile at him and sat back down.  “I have a strong constitution.  Don’t worry, Kusanagi-san.”

 

Izumo frowned and then flicked a look over at where his pseudo-family was clustered when he caught sudden movement in his peripheral vision.  They were _still_ staring, quite blatantly, but he ignored this and met Tatara’s gaze instead.

 

Their Clan’s mood-maker never failed to amaze him.  Izumo was convinced that the idiot would give the clothes off his own back to a complete stranger if necessary.

 

As it was, Tatara had set down his hot chocolate and dropped his blanket and was now making his way over.

 

Izumo felt more than saw Sawada stiffen.  Was the brunet uncomfortable with being directly scrutinized by so many HOMRA members or did he simply feel awkward around people he didn't know at all?

 

“Hi there!”  Tatara greeted with his typical openness.  “I'm a friend of Izumo-san’s – Totsuka Tatara; nice to meet you!”

 

Izumo watched the careful way Sawada studied HOMRA’s Third.  Interesting – most people who first met the brunet usually took one look at Tatara and dismissed him as too silly or too naïve or too weak to label as a threat.  And while it was true that Tatara couldn’t fight if his life depended on it – _especially_ if his life depended on it – that didn't make him completely harmless either.  The man had a way with words and an enviable ability to crack even the toughest people and worm his way into their hearts.

 

“Sawada Tsunayoshi,” Sawada said, shaking the hand Tatara offered, much like how he had four days ago with Izumo, if a bit reticent this time.

 

Tatara only smiled softly at Sawada and patted him on the shoulder.  “Don’t worry, you can borrow some of my clothes.  Wait here!”

 

And before anyone could say anything else, Tatara had dashed off into the back and up the stairs to his bedroom above the bar.

 

Izumo had to smother a snicker at the flabbergasted look on Sawada’s face.  “Something wrong, Sawada-san?”

 

Sawada turned incredulous eyes on him.  “I don’t even _know_ him and he’s just going to lend me clothes out of his own wardrobe?”

 

Izumo chuckled.  “It’s what he does.  If you stick around, you’ll understand that soon enough.”

 

It was like a switch had been flicked.  The expression on the brunet’s face shuttered, closing off faster than Izumo could blink.  For a moment, Izumo thought that the man would turn around and stride right back out the door.

 

Just as rapidly though, Sawada smiled once more.  Izumo arched a skeptical eyebrow.  The expression was bland and didn't reach the brunet’s eyes at all.

 

“Ah, then I probably won’t understand,” Sawada said lightly.  “I’ll be leaving in a few weeks.”

 

Izumo froze for a fraction of a second.  “You’re moving?”

 

The brunet waved a hand in the air, rings glinting under the lights.  “I never stay in one place for very long.  A few months at most.”

 

Izumo was saved from having to respond when Tatara bounded down again, a pile of clothes in hand, and before long, the pacifist had half-ushered, half-dragged Sawada away, overriding the latter’s objections with good cheer and happy-go-lucky chatter.

 

“Uh, Kusanagi-san?”

 

Izumo glanced up.  He was astounded that the skateboarder had managed to stay silent for this long.  “What is it, Yata?”

 

Their Clan’s vanguard scratched one cheek, looking confused.  “Who is that guy?  And do you… Does he want to join HOMRA or something?”

 

Izumo stared at him from behind his shades, and then glanced at the others.  Huh, even Mikoto had opened his eyes and was staring at him.

 

He was acting a bit out-of-character, he supposed, but it was hardly his fault.  Sawada made surprisingly good company even on the days that they never said a single word to each other in the hour that the brunet was here.

 

And he certainly wouldn't mind if Sawada wanted to join HOMRA (if the man even knew what HOMRA was), but more than that, he was just inexplicably disappointed that his evening conversation would be leaving soon.

 

Of course, he had the Clan, and God knew he’d lay down his own life for them in half a heartbeat, wouldn't trade them for all the riches in the universe, but once in a while, it was nice to have someone calm, reasonable, and not prone to shouting (Yata), picking up reckless, baffling hobbies that tended to leave the equivalent of a bomb site in its wake (Tatara), destroying his bar (all of HOMRA), or answering him in grunts, one-worded replies, or a sparse handful of terse sentences (Mikoto – the man was his first and best friend, and when it came down to it, there was quite literally nothing Izumo wouldn't give for him, but sometimes, he wished that the redhead would open up a little more.  King or no, Mikoto wasn’t invincible, and Izumo hadn't missed the occasional apprehensive frowns when the man was thinking about his power, nor the nightmares that plagued him on some nights.  He simply didn't know how to approach Mikoto about that sort of thing, which worried him most of all because his best friend wasn't the type to talk about his own problems at all.  He knew Tatara had tried to cheer their King up a few times but even he hadn't had much progress.).

 

“He hasn’t mentioned HOMRA at all,” Izumo said, leaning on the counter as he glanced in the direction that Tatara had hauled Sawada off to.  “He just comes to my bar for a drink or two every evening.”

 

“Every evening?”  Yata instantly looked suspicious.  “He could be a spy!”

 

Izumo shot him Patented Look of Laidback Annoyance Number 5: I Question Your Intelligence Sometimes.

 

“Yata,” He drawled, eyes flashing ominously behind his sunglasses.  There were two things he couldn't stand – destruction of his bar, and doubts over his ability as HOMRA’s Second and undercover informant from his own Clan, deliberately or otherwise.  “I _do_ keep an ear to the ground for rumours of new people joining a Clan.  And don’t you think I’d keep any talk of HOMRA away from my customers?”

 

Yata winced under his placid stare, floundering for a few seconds.  Izumo waited for a moment and then took pity on him.

 

“We never talk about HOMRA,” He said offhandedly.  “Besides, you heard him – he’s leaving in a few weeks.”

 

“But ya still want him to join, right Kusanagi-san?”  Shouhei guessed cheerily.  “Almost everybody knows about HOMRA in this city.  You could mention it to him and see if he wants to stay.”

 

“Idiot!”  Yata elbowed him roughly, already scowling.  “He can’t stay in the first place if he doesn’t pass the initiation!”

 

“Well it wouldn't hurt to tell him about it!”

 

“He could run off to Scepter 4 afterwards!”

 

“What has that got to do with anything?”

 

Izumo resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.  If they got any louder, he’d toss them out of his bar, rain or no rain.

 

“Do you want him to join?”

 

Izumo blinked at Mikoto who had extricated himself from the group by the couches and was now taking a seat at the counter.  The King looked unusually grave.

 

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Izumo replied honestly.  He hadn't thought about it.  Sawada was simply the guy who came by every day for a few drinks, someone Izumo could exchange a few words with without telling him off for destroying something or acting irresponsibly.  He tilted his head, eyeing Mikoto’s features hesitantly.

 

“Is there something wrong?”  He ventured, straightening even as he kept his volume down.  “Did you hear something about him?”

 

Mikoto propped an elbow on the counter, leaning his head against a loose fist.  “...He can’t join HOMRA.”

 

Izumo stared, taken aback by the blunt verdict.  Normally, Mikoto allowed anyone who wanted a chance at joining HOMRA to at least go through the test.  He had never flat-out refused someone from the start.

 

“That guy...” Mikoto’s gaze shifted, moving to the door that led to the back of the building.  “He won’t stand under me.”

 

Izumo stilled, trying to understand.  “Your Aura won’t accept him?”

 

Mikoto shrugged.  “It might; I wouldn't know.”

 

Like pulling teeth, seriously.  Izumo stifled a sigh.  Not can’t stand, _won’t_ stand.  Refuse to stand.  And Mikoto sounded certain.  He jolted.  “Is he- a _King_?”

 

He dropped his voice even further.  If Yata or any of the more volatile members heard, they’d attack even without proof.

 

Mikoto looked half-amused, half-frustrated, and Izumo had to hide a flinch.  He hated that look – it made him feel as if he’d never truly understand his best friend, and Mikoto knew it.  Still, he had to try.

 

“So he’s not,” Izumo concluded.  “Then why?”

 

“He’s like a King,” Mikoto said slowly.  “But he’s not.  I don’t know what he is, but he’s a leader.  He won’t follow.”

 

Izumo turned this over in his head, thinking of the brunet’s gentle nature that reminded him of Tatara and the mild countenance he now associated with Sawada.

 

But sometimes, now and then, he had also caught a glimmer of steely strength in the man’s eyes, a spark of it that struck a chord in him and made him think of Mikoto at his calmest.

 

Of course, most of the time, Izumo could, quite easily, convince himself that he was only seeing things.  After all, Sawada looked harmless, if a bit on the jaded side.

 

Harmless, like Tatara.

 

Right.

 

And if the man registered on Mikoto’s radar, then it was probably best that he was leaving town soon.

 

“It’s really alright, Totsuka-san!  You’ve given me enough!”

 

Izumo arched an eyebrow as Sawada sped out into sight, looking slightly harried and ready to bolt.  The man was wearing fresh clothes now, one of Totsuka’s white shirts and a pair of jeans.

 

“Watch the stool!”  Izumo warned, already bracing himself for the inevitable collision as Sawada, head still craned around and looking over his shoulder, raced straight towards the chair he had been sitting on earlier.

 

But to his surprise, Sawada simply sidestepped it in a graceful whirl of limbs, never even looking forward or stumbling as he flew past it.

 

He had unexpectedly good reflexes.

 

And then Tatara had burst back into the bar, arms weighed down with three jackets, a scarf, an umbrella, and even a pair of boots.

 

Izumo sweatdropped.  “Tatara, I think that’s overkill.”

 

“It is not!”  Tatara disputed vehemently.  “Do you know how many jackets he has?  One!”

 

“I only need the one!”  Sawada interjected from across the room, taking a step back for every step Tatara took forward.  “One jacket for one person – seems perfectly logical to me.”

 

Tatara’s eyes gleamed as they did whenever his mind was forming an Impulsive Idea.  Izumo closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again to watch Tatara pounce on Sawada and force him into a coat or strangle the man with the scarf or something.

 

The twenty-one-year-old probably would’ve done something along those lines if he had managed to get that far.  As it was, five steps away from the cornered Sawada, Tatara wailed, “You _need_ more than one coat!  It’s getting colder every day!  Besides, _who_ has only one jacket these days?”

 

All at once, Sawada seemed to droop, his brown eyes became sad and overcast, and his mouth tilted downward.  “Poor people.”

 

It made Izumo pull back in surprise.  It made Tatara freeze in his tracks.

 

And that was all Sawada needed.

 

In the blink of an eye, and before Tatara’s expression could get all the way to stricken horror, the sorrowful look on Sawada’s face had dropped away and the man had dodged around Tatara, zipping across the bar and dropping a few bills onto the counter before spinning on his heel and hurtling for the door.

 

“Have a good evening, Kusanagi-san!”  Sawada called over his shoulder.  “I’ll return the clothes to you tomorrow, Totsuka-san!”

 

And before any of them could stop him, the brunet had slipped on his shoes and disappeared into the night.

 

Izumo stared at the doors, stunned.  He might just have to re-evaluate Sawada as a poker player.

 

A quiet hum of laughter snapped Izumo out of his stupor and he glanced down in time to catch the amused smirk on Mikoto’s face.

 

In the ensuing silence, Tatara had heard it too.  “King, it’s not funny!  He- He _tricked_ me!”

 

Even Yata had to snort.  “You’re too gullible, Totsuka-san.”

 

Tatara scowled at the younger HOMRA member.  “You were fooled too.  I saw your face, Yata!”

 

A flush rose in Yata’s cheeks.  “I was not!”

 

Shaking his head, Izumo subconsciously glanced at the clock, and then did a double-take.

 

Six-forty.  A full twenty minutes earlier than usual.

 

Izumo cast the bickering duo a sardonic look.  Well, if anyone could knock someone’s schedule off track, it would be Tatara.

 

**~September, 30 th Day~**

 

                Izumo still couldn't quite believe this was happening.  One minute, everything had been fine.  There were no customers so the Clan had been rowdier than usual, Yata wrestling with Rikio, Bandou and Shouhei getting into a good-natured argument, and Tatara taking his turn to tutor Anna in science.  The others were scattered around, chatting or reading or sleeping.  Izumo himself was getting ready for his six-to-seven regular, still contemplating whether or not he should protect Sawada from Tatara’s preordained clothing tackle, as the oddball had dubbed yesterday night.

 

                In the next minute, Mikoto had shot up from his spot on the couch, eyes narrowed and focused, catching the rest of the room’s attention in a matter of seconds.  In a fraction of that time, his gaze had flitted to Izumo and then to Tatara and Anna, and Izumo had gotten the message as easily as if the King had spoken out loud.

 

                He had dived over his counter and crashed headlong into the two weakest members of HOMRA, knocking them both to the ground just as the building’s windows shattered in a rain of bullets and all hell broke loose.

 

                And now here he was, nursing a small gash on his arm where a bullet had nicked him and cursing in four different languages in his head because – _goddamnit_ – their Auras _didn't work_ , not against the inky darkness that each of the fifteen yakuza had wrapped around their hands like misty black gloves.  They had managed to take down eight before their assailants could fully activate their new toy, but afterwards, all their attacks had been rendered useless, sputtering out like guttered candles against the flames that the yakuza had thrown back at them.

 

                Not to mention his bar was a _mess_.  If – when – they got out of this, Izumo would make them pay back every single yen.

 

                Subtly scanning the room, he saw Yata bristling and seething on the ground, held at gunpoint by one of the sleazy yakuza who had invaded their headquarters.  He saw Rikio shift his weight off his bloodied right leg, and Chitose bite down furiously on the cigarette he had been smoking and hadn't yet put out.

 

Masaomi, Eric, and Kousuke were at the other end of the room, standing stiffly against the wall and glaring heatedly as another two yakuza stood guard over them.

 

Shouhei had taken the brunt of one of the brutal black flames and was now lying woozily on the ground with Bandou crouching protectively over him, looking pissed enough to strangle every enemy there with his bare hands.  Thankfully, the former looked to be recovering with no lasting damage.

 

And Izumo could almost see Mikoto’s temper manifest a physical form.  Their King had been ordered to stand in front of the counter with his hands in the air and three yakuza were positioned on either side of him, guns trained directly at his head.

 

One might ask why they were obeying.  After all, none of them were big on taking orders from anyone other than Mikoto.  Even if their Auras didn't work, they still had hands and feet and weapons.

 

The answer was simple.  They had Anna.

 

The tense frame beside him inched forward and Izumo instantly clamped his arm down around Tatara’s waist.

 

“For God’s sake, Tatara,” He muttered under his breath.  “ _Stay still_.”

 

“They have Anna!”  Tatara hissed back, _still_ moving despite the _fucking_ bullet wound in his side.  Izumo had chanced a cursory inspection at the injury and had deemed it non-fatal, though if it wasn't patched up soon, it would be.

 

It was how they had captured their youngest.  Izumo hadn't had a lot of room for manoeuvre but, nonetheless, he had moved forward to join the battle with his lighter and a barrage of fireballs after ushering Tatara and Anna towards the back door.

 

The next thing he knew, both had been dragged back through the front doors by one of their trespassers, the side of Tatara’s shirt soaked in crimson and the brunet himself kicking and struggling for all he was worth to hold on to Anna.

 

But the burly hulk of a man had only hauled Tatara into the air and thrown him to the ground, and Yata had erupted into an onslaught of vicious obscenities when the twenty-one-year-old hadn't been able to bite back a cry of agony as he skidded across the floorboards.  The back of the couch that Mikoto’s hand had been resting on had been crushed under the King’s grip.

 

It was the first and only time that Izumo had wished he had carpeted his bar.

 

He had lunged forward and bundled Tatara behind him before anyone could say anything and kept his eyes down in an effort to seem like he had given up.  Anything for the yakuza to dismiss them and _not_ finish the job they had done on Tatara.

 

Fortunately, none of them had been too interested, more focused on the young clairvoyant as they separated the rest of the Clan and kept them within easy shooting range.

 

“Don’t you think I know that?”  Izumo said now, keeping his voice steady.  “But you know charging in there isn’t going to do anything except get us killed faster, and you’re injured.  Stay down.”

 

It was the closest Izumo had ever seen Tatara to fuming.  The pain didn't even seem to register anymore.

 

_Because it’s Anna in danger_ , his mind whispered, and then automatically corrected itself.  _No, because it’s Anna in danger and Tatara had been the only one there to protect her, and Tatara_ can’t fight _._

 

“Alright, here’s how it’s gonna go,” What looked to be the head honcho stepped forward, a hand wrapped in darkness clasping Anna’s shoulder in a bruising hold and the muzzle of a handgun pressing against her head.  Anna’s features remained stoic but Izumo caught the quiver of her lips and the way her hands twisted in the folds of her dress.

 

Izumo wasn't a cruel man by nature.  He could draw blood and kill just as easily as Mikoto or Yata but he never went out of his way to hurt people unless ordered to or patience and words wouldn't suffice.

 

However, at this moment, he wanted nothing more than to rip these yakuza apart.  Mikoto was still as outwardly calm as ever but his amber eyes burned in his face.

 

“We’re takin’ the girl,” The leader continued, watching them with beady eyes.  “Heard she’s psychic and everything and our boss wants her.  The rest of you are gonna sit tight like good little children while I leave and my men will keep an eye on you.”

 

He paused as Yata all but vibrated in place, teeth bared.

 

“You retaliate,” The leader motioned to Tatara with a jerk of his chin.  “We kill him first.”

 

Yata settled down.  Barely.

 

“You do anything we don’t like,” The yakuza smiled, humourless and hard.  “And we go down the list.  After him, we kill Blondie.  After Blondie, it’ll be Porker over there.  I'm sure you get the picture.”

 

Izumo ignored the death threat aimed at his person.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rikio twitch, jaw tightening at the insult.  Everyone knew it was a bad idea to call the mild-mannered and friendly, but admittedly overweight yet still fit, HOMRA member fat.

 

                Still, there was nothing any of them could do as the leader began dragging Anna away.

 

_Things can’t possibly get any worse_ , Izumo thought, keeping half his attention on Mikoto in case their King gave a signal to do... _anything_.

 

And then, of course, because life just liked to screw with them, things got worse.  Infinitely worse.

 

Just as the yakuza head reached the door, it swung open, and anyone not pointing a gun at a HOMRA member all focused their weapons on the newest target.

 

_Smashed windowpanes are kind of a telling sign to STAY AWAY_ , Izumo hollered in his head as one Sawada Tsunayoshi stopped just inside the doorway, dramatic surprise widening his eyes.

 

Like yesterday, the bad weather had kept most people indoors and away from establishments like HOMRA.  Izumo had been hoping that Sawada would have the good sense to just go home, but the rain was actually lighter today and he had been clutching at straws.

 

“Who the fuck are you?”  The head honcho barked testily.  “You’re not HOMRA!  There should only be twelve of ’em!”

 

Instead of giving a straight answer and stammering out an apology like any other sane person would’ve done, the brunet’s gaze flickered down to where the yakuza’s gun was digging into Anna’s head.

 

“You’re hurting her,” Sawada said in an almost admonishing tone of voice.  Izumo felt like throttling him.  There was a time and place for everything.

 

The leader stared for a long second before scoffing derisively.  “Alright, I don’t care what kinda bravado ya put up.  Get in there with the rest of ’em.  Hurry up before I put a bullet in your brain.”

 

The yakuza shuffled aside and Sawada obediently moved inside, right up until he was half a foot past the leader.  And then he stopped.

 

“Now what?”  The yakuza snapped impatiently.  “I’m not kiddin’, boy.  Shootin’ ya’s not gonna make me lose any sleep.”

 

Sawada only cocked his head, half-turning, and there was no mistaking it this time – Izumo could _see_ the brown eyes bleed into a clear, crystallized orange.

 

The yakuza started, and Izumo saw Mikoto go very, very still, tense and relaxed at the same time, ready to move.

 

But what could Sawada possibly do?  Maybe the man did know how to fight, but he didn't even have Aura to somewhat protect him.

 

“For future reference, Yakuza-san, not that I foresee you having much of a future,” Sawada started pleasantly.  “Never, ever, allow a hand-to-hand specialist to get within striking distance.”

 

The leader blinked stupidly for a heartbeat, and in that single pulse of time, Izumo retracted his previous opinion.

 

Things had gotten infinitely _better_.

 

Fast as a striking cobra, Sawada’s hand shot forward, and before anyone could react, before the targeted yakuza could even fully release Anna and bring up the glove of black flames to block the spontaneous attack, the loud, grotesque crunch of a windpipe collapsing echoed throughout the bar.

 

The leader bent double, a wheezing, tortured scream whistling past his lips even as he gasped for air that wouldn't come.  In the same movement, Sawada twisted, rotating on one foot as his other leg came up and lashed out, propelling the asphyxiating man off his feet and through the doors before scooping up a shocked Anna into his arms.

 

All their enemies had instinctively turned their guns away from their targets and towards Sawada the moment the brunet had reached for their leader’s throat.  Izumo waited for his opportunity and didn't sit around gawking as he sprang to his feet and thrust a fireball straight into the closest yakuza’s unprotected face.

 

Mikoto didn't even wait.  Even before Sawada had taken down the leader, the King’s red Aura had detonated like a volcano, fire lashing out like giant whips and engulfing the three men guarding him as the redhead vaulted backwards and onto the counter, both hands blazing.

 

It took only a mere second longer before the rest of the bar exploded into action once more.  The yakuza were distracted, and they needed time to form shields with those black flames of theirs – time they didn't have now that Anna was no longer their hostage.

 

“Hey man, duck!”  Kousuke bellowed, and Izumo tossed another fireball at a man’s throat before turning to watch Sawada duck under the burst of fire Kousuke had thrown directly at an unsuspecting gunman who had been trying to use Sawada as a shield.

 

Sawada rolled across the floor, arms still wrapped around Anna with one hand cradling her head.  He rose effortlessly to his feet again, right in front of a frantic yakuza attempting to take aim, and without even looking, the brunet slammed a foot back and snapped the man’s kneecap.  As the yakuza went down with an unmanly shriek, Sawada spun and delivered a solid uppercut that broke the man’s jaw with an audible crack, flooring the yakuza with practiced ease and unruffled composure.

 

How the hell could Izumo have ever missed this?

 

The fight didn't take long to finish after that.  With their leader out of commission, the others fell apart, and another blast of Mikoto’s formidable Aura reduced the rest to a burnt crisp.

 

With the exception of a few crackling flames still dancing along the floorboards, the faint pitter-patter of rain outside, and the whimpers of the few yakuza who were still alive, there was no other sound.

 

“Anna!”

 

Izumo spun around, already glaring as he reached over the counter for a cloth to stop the bleeding in Tatara’s side.  “Which part of ‘stay still’ did you not understand, Tatara?”

 

“It’s a flesh wound,” Tatara countered, gaze entirely focused on the white-haired girl.  “Are you alright, Anna?  I am so sorry.”

 

Izumo turned back, releasing a breath of relief as he searched and failed to find any distinctive wounds on the nine-year-old still cradled in one of the brunet’s arms.

 

“Ah, I should- put you down,” Sawada shifted, dropping smoothly to one knee and setting Anna back on the floor.  He made to pull away, only to stop when the death grip Anna had had on the collar of Sawada’s shirt tightened even further.

 

“Uh...” Brown eyes, only a hint of orange still embedded in their depths, darted around the room as the man’s arms flailed a little before awkwardly patting the nine-year-old on the back.  “Anna-chan, was it?  You’re safe now, and I'm sure your friends would like to check you over.  Er, please let go?”

 

Izumo almost snorted at the brunet’s slightly panicked tone of voice.  Taking down two yakuza was easy; being confronted with a little girl apparently wasn't.

 

Truth be told, he was still coming down from an adrenaline rush.  That had been too close – if Sawada hadn't arrived when he did, hadn't chosen to come to the bar today or had chosen to walk away the moment he had seen the broken windows, Anna would be gone and the rest of them would’ve either been waiting to die or tearing the city apart searching for their youngest member.  Mikoto would’ve gone on a rampage and the Blue King would’ve probably stepped in.  A fight to the death between Kings was something Izumo could willingly live without for the rest of his life.

 

“Anna?”  Tatara took an uncertain step forward, barely noticing when Izumo pressed the cloth against his wound.

 

To their collective shock, Anna moved away, stepping closer to Sawada as she kept her eyes glued to the ground.  Her mouth was a thin line in her pale face.

 

Tatara recoiled, looking increasingly distressed.  “Anna, I'm sorry!  I didn't mean to- to let them catch you-”

 

“She’s not mad at you, Totsuka-san,” Sawada interrupted with utter conviction before Izumo could say the same.  The panic had subsided, leaving only a serene exterior behind as he placed gentle hands on the girl’s shoulders.  The wisp of flame in his eyes had grown again.

 

Izumo leaned back against the counter behind him, fingers itching for a cigarette as he watched the scene unfold.  Several feet to his left, Mikoto’s shoulders had finally relaxed completely, and the King seemed okay with the situation as well.

 

“Anna-chan,” Sawada started gently, ducking his head to catch her eyes.  “Totsuka-san is your good friend, right?  Family?  You can’t really expect him to just step aside and let those yakuza take you without at least trying to protect you, ne?”

 

Realization flooded Tatara’s features.  The idiot must've lost more blood than Izumo had thought.  Tatara was usually much quicker on the uptake than any of them when it came to feelings.

 

Anna slowly looked up, one hand still fisted in Sawada’s shirt.

 

“And you’re the youngest,” Sawada continued firmly.  “It’s their job to protect you-”

 

“No!”  Anna jumped in, and Izumo would probably never figure out how her voice could come out both quiet and loud at the same time – quiet in volume, loud in intensity.

 

“It’s their job to protect you,” Sawada reiterated resolutely.  “And your job to protect them _when you can_.  Facing down dangerous adults does not count.  However, making sure Totsuka-san doesn't do something stupid and hurt himself even more does.”

 

Sawada nodded over her head and Anna half-turned, eyes widening when she found Tatara hovering anxiously a few feet behind her, the cloth Izumo had given him now soaked clean through.  Izumo would’ve been worried – more worried – if the twenty-one-year-old wasn’t under the Red King’s banner and still standing.

 

“You know a bit of first-aid, right?”  Sawada prompted, and at last, Anna released her hold on the brunet.  In a flurry of fluttering red cloth and white hair, the girl hurried forward, circling around the counter before coming back with a first-aid kit, and then a bemused Tatara was tugged into the nearest seat as Anna proceeded to pull out disinfectant and bandages.

 

Izumo smiled, satisfied, and then glanced back at Sawada.  The brunet was watching the two with a... wistful sort of grief, and the distant loss in his darkening eyes made Izumo wonder whether, in that moment, Sawada was still seeing Anna and Tatara or someone else entirely.

 

He didn't have time to examine it further because Sawada shook his head a little and turned away sharply, foot scuffing against a broken piece of wood as he stood up again.

 

“Well, what a mess,” Sawada remarked with forced cheer, shaking off the subtle misery he usually wore like a cloak and replacing it with something lighter.

 

Izumo took this as a cue for him to step in and break the tension.  “I’ll say.  Just _look_ at my bar.  It’s going to cost a fortune to repair it.”

 

One corner of Sawada’s mouth tipped up into a sardonic smile before he bent down over one of the figures slumped on the ground.

 

Izumo blinked when something was tossed in his direction and his hand came up to catch it.  His eyebrows rose when he recognized the sheaf of bills he was now holding.

 

“Compensation money,” Sawada said blithely.

 

Izumo coughed to cover a laugh.  “Think I might need more than this.  They did do a number on the place.”

 

“Yeah?”  Sawada waved a hand.  “Twenty-two more wallets for you to collect your reimbursement from.  They sure came prepared to pay.”

 

Izumo smirked, but didn't continue their banter when Mikoto suddenly pushed off the counter and strode forward, stopping a step in front and to the side of Izumo and a foot away from Sawada.

 

The tension skyrocketed as Mikoto stared down and Sawada stared up.  For such a distinct height difference, Izumo got the sense that they were on perfectly even footing.

 

_He’s like a King_ , Mikoto had said.  Izumo could see it now.

 

It was Mikoto who moved first, right hand extending in front of him.  For half a heartbeat, Izumo thought his best friend was going to put Sawada through the test, but no flames appeared, only an open palm and a level gaze.

 

Sawada seemed to ponder the hand for a moment before grasping it in a firm shake, meeting Mikoto’s eyes once more.

 

“Thank you,” Mikoto said simply, curt and blunt.

 

Sawada smiled.  “You’re welcome.”

 

It wasn't a full initiation or anything, but Izumo noticed the apprehension ease from the rest of the Clan, as if this had still been an informal acceptance of sorts.

 

Of course, that didn't mean everyone was instantly buddy-buddy.  It wasn't like that even within their Clan most of the time.

 

“Alright dude!”  Yata stormed forward, squinting suspiciously up at Sawada.  “You were completely cool with all the explosions – there’s no way you don’t know about HOMRA!”

 

Sawada blinked, blank confusion spreading across his features.  “You mean how you guys threw fireballs and everything?  It was a great trick!  You’re the best street magicians I’ve ever seen!  So is HOMRA a sort of live entertainment show?”

 

There was a long dumbfounded silence.  Half the room looked like they had been clubbed over the head.

 

Izumo pulled out his lighter and a cigarette to hide his smile, studying Sawada more closely.  This confusion was the same as the earlier surprise and yesterday’s sadness – fake if you knew to look for the tiny glint of laughter in the man’s eyes.

 

“Someone please,” Yata finally said in a strangled tone of voice.  “ _Please_ tell me this guy is joking and he isn’t really this dumb.”

 

Sawada maintained a look of visible bewilderment for a second longer before he cracked, a snicker slipping out into the open.  “I'm kidding, I'm kidding!  Yes, of course I’ve heard of HOMRA.”

 

For once, Yata looked more relieved than suspicious, and the others around the room all looked reassured now that they weren’t about to be mistaken for a circus act.

 

A quicksilver shadow of amusement darted across Mikoto’s face, a glance to the side told Izumo that Tatara was grinning, and he would swear that even Anna had just bitten back a smile.

 

“Hard not to, being in this city,” The brunet clarified as he flipped over another dead body and methodically removed the corpse’s wallet.

 

Izumo wondered if the man had done this before.

 

“Did you know just getting into Shizume City is a chore and a half?”  Sawada continued, making a face.  “There are all these procedures you have to go through, and those blue people can question you all day if given half a chance.”

 

"Blue peo-” Shouhei spluttered, easing himself to his feet with Bandou’s hand at his elbow.  “You mean Scepter 4?”

 

“Yeah,” Sawada nodded, tossing Izumo another stack of bills.  “They’re the police force around here, right?  I almost turned right back around when I realized, but there was traffic, and _leaving_ promised an additional half hour of Twenty Questions.  I didn't think it was worth it.”

 

Shouhei guffawed and Kousuke grinned.  Yata scoffed.  “Damn those bastards.  Half the time, it’s like they're running a prison around here.”

 

“Language, Yata,” Izumo cut in, drawing in a lungful of smoke as he shot the teen a warning look.  Yata ducked his head mulishly.

 

“Oh,” Recollection suddenly dawned on Sawada’s face and the man glanced over at Tatara before heading for the disintegrating doors.  “Be right back.  I left something outside.”

 

“... There is something wrong with that guy,” Yata said, crossing his arms.  “He’s got a screw loose.  Kusanagi-san, you spend an hour talking to him every day.  Is he crazy?”

 

Izumo mentally rolled his eyes.  “I don’t know, Yata, why don’t you ask him?”

 

Yata subsided into unintelligible grumbling.

 

Izumo sighed and glanced around the bar.  It was going to take weeks to get everything back the way it was.  There were even holes in the ceiling (he was surprised a wardrobe or something hadn't dropped on their heads during the skirmish), which meant the building’s residents would have to find another place to live for a while.

 

The doors squeaked open again in a shower of broken glass.

 

“Hey,” Yata interjected before Sawada could say anything.  For a moment, Izumo thought the skateboarder really was going to ask the brunet if he was crazy.  “You didn't kill your two guys.”

 

Izumo blinked and turned with everyone else to take in the head yakuza by the door, breath rattling with every inhalation, blood trickling out with every exhalation, and then to the other one who was out cold but very much alive.

 

Sawada shrugged, stepping neatly over the one by the door.  “I don’t like to kill if I can help it.  It’s not my style.”

 

That a supposedly average citizen would kill at all was mildly disturbing.  Izumo tucked this piece of information away for later consideration.

 

“Here are your clothes, Totsuka-san,” Sawada held up a relatively dry bag.  “I washed them as well.”

 

“Ah, thanks,” Tatara eased himself to his feet, Anna having done a good job patching him up.  It looked like the injury really was just a flesh wound, thank God.  “I still have a few jackets to give you though.”

Sawada grimaced, already backing away.  “I don’t think so, Totsuka-san.”

 

Izumo watched the glee in Tatara’s smile grow, scanned the destruction around him again (Scepter 4 would no doubt be swooping in sooner or later), thought of the unusable rooms upstairs, and then looked back at Sawada, who, even with genuine mirth in his expression, was smiling that faded half-smile again, as if a part of the brunet had forgotten how to finish the expression a long time ago.

 

He made up his mind.  Everyone would be happier if they kept an eye on this unassuming man, and he was sure Mikoto would agree.  After all, for someone who would refuse to stand under the King, Sawada had still accepted Mikoto’s hand, a gesture of respect and acknowledgment.

 

                And they didn't have anywhere else to stay anyway.  Sawada would just have to suck it up.

 

**Please leave a review on your way out.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: Well, I definitely didn't expect anywhere near this many reviews for this fic since K-Project isn’t exactly a popular fandom:) And it seems I’ve managed to convert some of you into K!fans as well, so that’s definitely a plusXD

**~October, 1 st Day~**

 

                “Wow.”

 

                “I _told_ you I have a crappy apartment.”

 

                “No, that’s not it,” Tatara protested as he hobbled through the narrow doorway, side still tender from yesterday’s gunshot wound.

 

                Sawada glanced back with a wry expression.  “Don't tell me you’re admiring the decor.  I won’t believe you.”

 

                Tatara winced, scanning the bare walls and general emptiness of the flat.  “I- wasn’t.  It’s just kind of empty, isn’t it?”

 

                Sawada shrugged, kicking a single cardboard box under a chair as he led them to the tiny sitting room and absently ushered Tatara onto the couch before gesturing for the others, all weighed down with futons and bags, to take a seat anywhere there was room.  Tatara had to smother a smile.

 

                “I move around quite a bit,” The brunet explained.  “There’s not much point having a lot of unnecessary belongings, and even less point unpacking everything.”

 

                He paused, wavering uncertainly in the middle of the room, and Tatara tried to put himself in their temporary host’s shoes for a moment.

 

                Izumo had, very abruptly, announced that he, Tatara, Mikoto, and Anna were all going to bunk over at Sawada’s house until reconstructions were finished and Scepter 4 had stopped crawling around the place looking for new leads (something that most of HOMRA hadn't been very happy about).

 

                Suffice it to say, this hadn't gone over well with Sawada.

 

                It was probably the first time Tatara had ever heard Izumo argue with someone, and while none of the words had been audible since Sawada had hauled the blond into the back room and duked it out with him there, Tatara had heard an edge of good-natured humour in both their voices.

 

                They had come back out ten minutes later, Izumo triumphant and Sawada trailing behind him with a highly disgruntled expression on his face that didn't quite hide the exasperated amusement behind it.  Izumo had pushed, but not too far, like the blond often did with their King, and Sawada had relented.

 

                Tatara had been all for it, and Anna had come very close to beaming.  Her eyes had certainly lit up, and Mikoto had taken one look at her and agreed as well, despite Yata’s rather paranoid warnings about ‘contracting Sawada’s crazy’.

 

                In the end though, most of Yata’s ire had been redirected at Scepter 4, who had come trooping in half an hour after everything had been over, and then proceeded to interrogate everyone (Tatara had just been thankful that Fushimi hadn't been there, even though a part of him had been disappointed at not seeing his former Clansman).

 

In the span of three hours, most of HOMRA had almost come to blows with a few of Scepter 4’s members, though Izumo had dropped a word to that female lieutenant, Awashima, and the woman had somehow produced a doctor for Tatara within a minute of finding out about his injury.

 

                (Tatara secretly wondered if it was a requirement for all second-in-commands to be prepared and coolheaded at all times, able to procure backup plans for their backup plans if need be.)

 

                Each of them had been subjected to at least ten minutes of questioning one by one, something Yata had especially not taken a liking to but had grudgingly acquiesced after receiving a nod from Mikoto.

 

                Of course, before Scepter 4 had arrived, Mikoto had asked Anna to scan the minds of the two yakuza who had still been alive, but neither of them had known anything of value besides the fact that a mysterious benefactor had provided them with the flames.

 

                And when Scepter 4 had finally made their appearance, they had taken one look at the coldly precise blows on each of those two men and had demanded to know who had taken them down.  Apparently, HOMRA wasn't known for dishing out anything other than messy injuries.

 

                That had led to Izumo stepping in, casually claiming credit for the damage and keeping the spotlight away from Sawada, who had been doing his best to fade into the background.  Upon silent agreement, everyone had decided that it was probably best that Scepter 4 didn’t know of the powerhouse stored in the unassuming brunet.  That could lead to everything from an arrest to a shadow tracking Sawada’s movements at all times.

 

And after a few suspicious looks from the lower-ranked members of Scepter 4 and an odd one from Awashima, they had accepted this as truth and then proceeded to interrogate Sawada anyway, him being the only non-HOMRA member there.

 

                Tatara was still unsure whether he should’ve laughed or gaped in shock at what had happened then.

 

**_~Eight Hours Ago~_ **

“And what were you doing here?”

 

                Tatara watched with wide eyes as Sawada’s features melted into helpless distress.  “I- I like coming here for a drink after work, a- and I suppose I should’ve called the police the moment I saw the broken windows, but I wanted to take a closer look and one of those- those yakuza spotted me and dragged me inside with the rest.  They- They were terrifying!  Oh, there won’t be more of them, will there?  I- I never knew this city could be so dangerous!”

 

                Tatara sweatdropped when the interrogator patted Sawada on the back and then murmured to one of the others to bring a shock blanket.

 

                Glancing to the side, he saw Izumo leaning against the bar counter with his eyes closed, the hand holding a cigarette to his lips hiding his smile from the Blue Clan.  Several of his other Clansmen were staring determinedly at burnt patches of the wall, keeping their faces as straight as possible, though Shouhei and Yata’s shoulders trembled every few seconds as if both were fighting back laughter.  Mikoto was, as usual, sprawled on the couch, amber eyes watching the goings-on with an air of tolerant amusement.

 

                “We’ll do our best to make sure this won’t happen again, sir,” The interrogator said next, confidence oozing from his voice.  “You can count on us to keep this city safe.”

 

                “Oh thank you!”  Sawada leaned forward earnestly and grabbed the interrogator’s hand, shaking it vigorously.  “With such courageous policemen out and about, I have no doubt we’ll all sleep better at night!”

 

                Yata all but went into convulsions and Izumo had to move forward and intercept a Scepter 4 member when the man came over to see why Shouhei had collapsed into a seemingly severe coughing fit.

 

                At the very least, Sawada’s little show went a long way to dissipate some of the automatic hostility towards Scepter 4 amongst the HOMRA members.

 

                The interrogator puffed up just a little and gestured magnanimously to the side to let Sawada go, checking the brunet off the list that Scepter 4 had compiled.

 

                Perhaps it was lucky that the Blue King was outside talking to his lieutenant.  It was a bit mean, but Tatara thought this guy just might need retraining in a big way.

 

**_~Present~_ **

 

                Once the inquiries were over though, Izumo had marched the building’s residents upstairs and ordered them to pack their necessities and nothing more.  Yata had then shouted up from below that people might come in here to loot the place, something which even Tatara had to admit was a valid point.

 

                Their King’s directive had solved it all for them.  The other HOMRA members either still lived at home with their parents or shared apartments with each other.  While none of them had room to put four additional people up, they each certainly had space to shove away a few extra boxes of possessions.

 

                Lucky for them because Sawada hadn't been joking when he had said that his apartment would be a tight squeeze.  There was only one couch, now occupied by Tatara and Anna and surprisingly comfortable, and an armchair in which Izumo sat after Mikoto had silently refused it by dropping onto the ground and leaning back against one wall.

 

                “Well, this is it,” Sawada now said, waving a hand in the air.  “There’s one bathroom, a small kitchen down that way, and a bedroom.  Washing and dryer machines are downstairs in the public laundry room.  Umm...”

 

                He trailed off, glancing hesitantly at Anna who stared back with inquisitive eyes.  “Would you... like your own room?  I can move out here for a while.”

 

                Anna shook her head.

 

                “It’s fine,” Mikoto interjected shortly.  “She’s got her own futon.  Tatara will take the couch.”

 

                “King!”  Tatara instantly objected.  “I've got a futon too!”

 

                “I don’t want you sleeping on the floor until that’s healed up,” Mikoto said brusquely.  “Even with bedding.”

 

                Tatara subsided, pouting.  It wasn't fair – Anna should have the couch.  She was small enough that the sofa would seem like a bed to her.

 

                “Right then,” Sawada scratched his head, looking around.  “Uh, I suppose you can store your things in the hall closet.  I’ll move the boxes into my room.”

 

                “I’ll give you a hand,” Izumo volunteered, getting to his feet and following Sawada from the room.

 

                Tatara made to rise as well but a whack to the back of his head made him yelp.  “Ow!  King!”

 

                “You,” Mikoto was suddenly towering over him.  “Sit.  And remain sitting.  Anna, keep an eye on him.”

 

                And before Tatara could complain about getting hit again (admittedly for his own stupidity), Mikoto had strolled out of the sitting room with Anna anchoring an arm around his.

 

                “Not fair,” Tatara whined, tentatively prodding the injury in his side.  It would be completely healed by the end of the week, two weeks tops – courtesy of living under their King.

 

                His gaze slid to the side where HOMRA’s youngest member was sitting.  Sure, he had taken a bullet for her (and it wasn't even so much _for her_ since the yakuza had been aiming at him anyway even as he had stood in front of her) but what good was that?  If Sawada hadn't come when he had, hadn't been able to fight, like Tatara, Anna would be gone, forced to do who-knew-what for some sleazy scumbag, and it would be _all his fault_ because he couldn't so much as throw a proper punch.

 

                “Not your fault.”

 

                Tatara blinked and found red eyes peering up at him.  He smiled and ran a hand through her hair.  “Mm, I know, Anna.  Sorry for worrying you.”

 

                Anna snuggled into his side and Tatara hummed a wordless tune, hoping she’d fall asleep soon.  It was long past midnight.

 

                Involuntarily, his thoughts strayed back to the battle.  He never wanted something like that to happen again, ever.  He had always thought that just being part of HOMRA, being the one who kept everyone together and made them all smile a bit more when they were stressed out, was enough.

 

                Evidently not.

 

                If he had been able to fight, Anna might not have been in danger.  At the very least, he could've distracted their attackers and given her enough time to run away.

 

                With a sigh, he tilted his head against the backrest.  He had never had much interest in learning how to fight, had never _liked_ fighting in the first place, not like Yata or Mikoto or any of the others.  To an outsider, it was positively laughable for Tatara to be in HOMRA at all.

 

                But he had wanted to be the Red King’s vassal for as long as he could remember, ever since he was a child.  His instincts, his very soul had always told him that there was something more to this world, even before his parents, in one of their rare attempts at giving parental advice, had told him of the Clans and had warned him to stay away from them.  And when he had first laid eyes on Suoh Mikoto, a teenager who hadn't yet been King back then, Tatara had known at once who he would follow for the rest of his life.

 

                He sighed again.  Perhaps he could ask Yata to show him a few basic moves?  But the eighteen-year-old’s fighting style just wasn't something Tatara could picture himself pulling off, not to mention Yata would probably mention it to Mikoto, and their King could put two and two together just fine.  And Mikoto might stop him because Tatara wasn't a fighter and he shouldn't feel guilty about the kidnapping attempt on Anna and-

 

                And he was going in circles.

 

                He glanced in the direction of the hallway where the quiet murmurs of the three older men could be heard.

 

                Sawada was just as harmless-looking as Tatara was, except Sawada _could_ fight, and fight very well at that.

 

                Maybe...

 

                Tatara flexed one hand, staring at his palm.

 

                Maybe.

 

**~October, 2 nd Day~**

 

                “Work?”  Mikoto asked from one darkened corner of the kitchen as he watched their host rush in and begin rifling through the fridge.

 

                “Gah!”  The brunet jumped and spun around, one hand pressing against his chest.

 

                _Fake_ , Mikoto noted carefully.  _He already knew I was here.  Why fake surprise?  A defense mechanism?  To appear weak and harmless?  Why?_

 

                “Give a guy a heart attack, why don’t you?”  Sawada scolded half-heartedly before turning back to the sandwich he had just pulled out.  “Yes, I have work.  I might stop by briefly at six tonight but I’ll be back late since I missed yesterday’s shift at my other job.”

 

                Mikoto arched an eyebrow but said nothing, idly fiddling with an unlit cigarette.  Sawada had told them to step outside if they wanted to smoke.

 

                “Alright,” The brunet motioned to the shelves and refrigerator.  “If anyone wants to cook, there are ingredients packed away – not a lot though so don’t expect a five-star gourmet meal.  Other than that, I wrapped some sandwiches I made yesterday- or I suppose earlier this morning, so you can help yourselves. Uh... I think that’s it- oh wait-”

 

Sawada fumbled in his pockets for a moment before producing a small key.  “For the door.  I'm off; have a good day!”

 

                And with a hurried wave, the man darted out of the kitchen, snatching up the bag he had put down along the way.

 

                Mikoto listened to the front door opening and closing, the click barely audible as Sawada no doubt made an effort to keep all noise level down.

 

                He leaned back in the chair he was sitting in, closing his eyes, and then blinking them open again when a flash of fire and destruction and the barren wasteland from his nightmares reared up in his mind.

 

                With a short sigh, he got to his feet and headed for the door as well.  Maybe a walk would clear his head.

 

**~October, 3 rd Day~**

 

                Izumo glanced up from the newspaper he was rereading for the third time that day (It was the first time in a long while that he had no bar to run) when he heard the front door open.  Seconds later, their host stumbled into the kitchen, figure drenched and features haggard.

 

                For a moment, the two of them only looked at each other.  Izumo tried not to frown as the clock on the wall ticked past twelve-thirty.

 

“Still up?”  Sawada finally spoke up, moving forward to sit down when Izumo extended a foot and nudged out the other chair for him.

 

                Izumo shrugged, folding up the paper.  “You weren’t back yet.  Mikoto went for a  coffee run at the convenience store down the street a few minutes ago.  Tatara and Anna are already asleep.”

 

                “Hm,” The brunet drew in a deep breath and then released it again as he let his head drop onto the table.  “Coffee at this hour?”

 

                Izumo rose to his feet, padding across the small kitchen to the counter.  “It’ll be hot.”

 

                “Sold,” Sawada shifted, raising his head and smiling faintly at him.  “What are you doing?”

 

                “I doubt you’ve eaten,” Izumo said, unwrapping the plastic wrap from the bowl of udon he had put aside earlier.  “I’ll heat this up for you.  You go take a shower and change out of those clothes.”

 

                He glanced back over his shoulder when he didn't receive an immediate reply, and found a bemused look aimed in his direction.  “What?”

 

                “You’re...” Sawada shook his head, slowly getting to his feet as well.  “Are you always like this?  With your family?”

 

                Izumo blinked, and then glanced down at the incriminating bowl he was holding.  “...Well, where would we go if our host went and died on us because he can’t seem to take care of himself?”

 

                This startled a ragged laugh from Sawada, and the brunet conceded with a nod.  “Yeah, guess so.  Thanks, Kusanagi-san.”

 

                The brunet straggled out again and Izumo turned back to the stove.  There was a microwave, but food always tasted better when heated in an actual pot.

 

                Ten minutes later, the sound of the door opening again made him look up, and he nodded a greeting at his best friend as Mikoto appeared in the kitchen.

 

                “He’s back?”  The redhead enquired, placing down a plastic bag on the table and withdrawing three cans of coffee from it.

 

                “Aa,” Izumo jerked his chin in the direction of the hallway.  “Five minutes after you left.  Looked ready to drop.”

 

                Mikoto grunted, taking the seat Izumo had vacated.  “You know where he works?”

 

                “No,” Izumo stirred the noodles, turning down the heat a little.  “It never came up.”

 

                “Bookstore,” The voice of their topic of conversation interjected, and they both turned as Sawada meandered in, towel draped over his shoulders and hair still dripping.  “In the mornings and afternoons.  And then cook at a late-night diner.  I help with the cleanup and next day’s preparations for overtime pay.”

 

                Izumo paused, turning the stove off as he lifted the pot.  “You really need to work so many hours?”

 

                Sawada shrugged, dropping elegantly into the remaining chair.  “I do what I have to do to get by.  Money is... troublesome.”

 

                Izumo weighed the pros and cons, and then asked lightly, “Friends or family?  You could lean on them, just until you get back onto your feet.”

 

                Mikoto didn't move, but out of the corner of his eye, Izumo saw the King’s gaze sharpen in warning.

 

                “No,” Sawada’s voice was just as light but, in contrast, his eyes had darkened with heavy shadows.  “None, I mean.  Used to.  Not anymore.”

 

                The brunet cleared his throat and the strained smile that had already been twitching at the corners of his lips widened almost convincingly.

 

                Izumo inwardly winced.  Mikoto had always been perceptive when the man bothered paying attention.  Izumo was too but his curiosity sometimes got the better of him.

 

                “That smells good,” Sawada said abruptly in a wildly transparent attempt to change the subject and clear the awkwardness in the air.

 

                Izumo snatched at it gratefully.  “Yeah, though if you work as a chef, this’ll be average at best.  It’s just udon.”

 

                “Nah, I'm not all that good,” This time, Sawada looked genuinely happy as the meal and a pair of chopsticks were placed in front of him, and Izumo suddenly wished he had whipped up something more.  “And I usually eat instant ramen or something simple when I come back here.  This is nice, so, thanks.”

 

                The brunet murmured a quiet “Itakdakimasu” before digging in ravenously, and Izumo couldn't, for the life of him, blend this lonely man living in a dingy apartment and working two jobs to make ends meet with the man from the day before yesterday, the one with the presence of a King and the self-assurance of somebody entirely comfortable with who he was and his place in the world.

 

                He glanced over at Mikoto.  The King was studying Sawada with lazy eyes, but the same measure of respect that had been there ever since the brunet had cut in and saved Anna still glowed steadfastly behind the burnished amber.

 

                Izumo turned away again and busied himself with washing the pot.  Apparently, Mikoto could see the wolf behind the sheepskin perfectly fine.

 

**~October, 10 th Day~**

 

                “Ano, is Sawada Tsunayoshi-san here?”  Tatara enquired at the counter.  He summoned up his brightest smile for the cashier as he hefted a plastic bag.  “He forgot his lunch – he’s really not a morning person.”

 

                The woman giggled, eyes lighting up with the prospect of gossip.  “Oh?  Are you Sawada-kun’s friend?  Boyfriend perhaps?”

 

                Tatara laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head as he wondered how Sawada would be taking this rumour.  “No, no, nothing like that.  We’re just friends.”

 

                “Oh don’t worry,” The woman winked.  “I understand.  He’s in the back on his break.  We’re not exactly supposed to let non-employees in there but if you pop in real quick, I'm sure no one will mind.”

 

                “Thank you!”  Tatara chirped cheerily and bounded in the direction that the woman had pointed.  One glance back told him that she was already whispering conspiratorially to her neighbour.

 

                Oh dear.  He’d have to apologize.

 

                “Sawada-san?”  He poked his head into the first open room, grinning when the person he was looking for glanced up in surprise from the notebook he had been scribbling in.

 

                “Totsuka-san?  What are you doing here?  Is something wrong?”

 

                Tatara caught a glimpse of words, odd symbols, and diagrams before the notebook was closed, and he hastily explained, “I brought you lunch.  Izumo-san made it.”

 

                Sawada’s eyebrows shot up.  “Kusanagi-san?  Why?”

 

                Tatara pushed the lunch towards the brunet before sitting down across from him.  “You don’t eat enough.  And since you won’t make your own lunches, Izumo-san’s decided to add you to the list when he makes meals for the rest of us.”

 

                Sawada’s fingers tightened briefly around the handles of the bag before he smiled.  It looked almost sad for a split second.  “That’s nice of him.”

 

                Tatara faltered for a moment, feeling out of his depth as he sometimes did whenever he tried cheering Mikoto up from one of his moods.

 

                “Don't try so hard,” Sawada remarked, and Tatara’s gaze flashed up just in time to catch a flicker of orange in the older man’s gaze.  “It’s all over your face.  You're not my therapist.”

 

                Tatara flushed with embarrassment.  “S- Sorry.  I worry about people sometimes.  You just looked a lot like King when he’s upset about something.”

 

                “Really?”  Sawada pulled out a plastic box and Tatara had to hide a grin when the brunet’s mouth dropped a little at the homemade takoyaki inside.  “Kusanagi-san made this?”

 

                “Yup!”  Tatara confirmed.  “Izumo-san is good at snacks like that.  He can’t cook a dinner spread, but small things like that are his specialties.”

 

                “Heh,” Sawada beamed, features lighting up in an almost bipolar manner from before.  “I haven’t had takoyaki in forever!”

 

                _What kind of life do you lead?_   Tatara fretted as he watched the brunet dig in.  _Takoyaki is common in Japan!_

 

                “I’ll have to thank Kusanagi-san,” Sawada mused out loud between bites.  “First the late dinners every night and now a lunch too.”

 

                “You’re giving us a place to stay,” Tatara pointed out.  “And you’re not even charging rent.  It’s the least we can do.”

 

                “What kind of person would I be if I turned you all away and left you sleeping on the streets or something?”  Sawada objected with a vehement shake of his head.  “The only real problem I had with the arrangements was that my place was too small.  But you all somehow fit anyway.”

 

                “It’s big enough,” Tatara declared staunchly.  “It’s just like a huge sleepover.”

 

                Sawada laughed, the sound fading away before it finished completely, but Tatara counted it a win.

 

                “Ne, how did you get in here in the first place?”  Sawada tilted his head at the door.  “I didn't think they allowed customers back here.”

 

                Tatara laughed nervously.  “Well, uh, I told the cashier lady that you forgot your lunch and that I was here to give it to you, and she might’ve gotten the impression that- well, hmm, that- I’mnowyourboyfriend.”

 

                Sawada arched an eyebrow, looking between Tatara and the door before heaving a sigh.  Tatara was relieved to see the beginnings of a smile on his face though.

 

                “Kitagawa-san is a very nosy woman, and a chronic liar to boot,” Sawada said, returning to his lunch.  “She spawns rumours just by opening her mouth.  Don’t worry about it – it’ll die out soon enough.”

 

                Tatara stared, wide-eyed.  “Has she said other stuff about you?”

 

                “She says stuff about everyone,” Sawada corrected.  “I’ve been everything from the disowned son of a high-classed family to an undercover spy to a tramp who recently managed to bag this job by currying favours from the boss.”

 

                Tatara blanched at the latter.  “What?!  She shouldn't say things like that!”

 

                Sawada shrugged.  “There are people like that in the world, people who just can’t mind their own business and are bored enough to make up stories about others.  Like I said – don’t let it worry you.  I don’t care for gossip.”

 

                Tatara backed down hesitantly.  The brunet really did seem unconcerned.

 

                They sat in companionable silence for a while, Tatara stealing a few takoyaki for himself much to Sawada’s visible amusement.

 

What?  Izumo made the best takoyaki!

 

“So,” Sawada said at last, swallowing the last of his meal.  Tatara suddenly found himself on the receiving end of that flame-coloured gaze.  “What are you here for anyway?  Besides bringing me lunch.  Thank you, by the way.”

 

Tatara froze, feeling a lot like a deer in the headlights of a car.  He shrank back a little, ducking his head.  “You... realized, huh?”

 

Sawada quirked a half-smile.  “Just had a feeling.  You've been looking a bit jittery all week.”

 

Tatara clasped his hands on top of the table, slumping back against his seat.  “...I want- I _need_ to learn how to fight.  After- After that battle last week- I mean, Anna could've been kidnapped!  If you hadn't come, they would’ve taken her, and it would be _all my fault_!”

 

His shoulders hunched when a deafening silence ensued.  It was ludicrous, he _knew_.  He didn't even _look_ like a fighter.  At least Sawada, who was the same height and build as he was, _looked_ the part when times called for it.

 

“Why?”  The brunet broke the silence, sounding entirely neutral.

 

Tatara’s knuckles turned white.  “‘Why’?  Because- Because what happened to Anna can’t happen again.  We’re supposed to protect her!”

 

“The others do that well enough,” Sawada countered blandly.

 

“But I should’ve protected her that day!”  Tatara lashed out, hands separating and balling into fists.  “I was the only one there!  I should’ve-”

 

He cut himself off, snapping his mouth shut so quickly that he nicked his tongue.  The slight sting was a welcome distraction because-

 

When was the last time he had forgotten to stay calm and amicable?  Ten years?  More?  Had any of his Clansmen ever even seen him with anything save smiles and dramatic optimism?

 

But Sawada was still sitting there looking for all the world like Tatara hadn't just acted completely out-of-character.  Which, to the brunet who had only really known Tatara for little more than a week, he supposed it was understandable.

 

Still.

 

“It was once,” Sawada continued placidly, eyes still orange as the man leaned forward to rest his chin on folded hands.  “Probably won’t happen again.  Your boss- King, I mean, doesn't seem the type to make the same mistake twice.  Not when it comes to the safety of his family anyway.”

 

“It was still once too many,” Tatara insisted stubbornly.  “And probably doesn't mean never.  I don’t ever want to feel that weak again.”

 

He had already lost his composure – might as well go for broke.

 

“I've never felt like this before,” He confessed almost bitterly.  “I mean, I've always been the one who welcomed people into our Clan and made them feel at home.  I talked to them about the problems they were having with their families or friends or just life in general.  I kept everyone together.  I’ve never-”

 

He waved a helpless hand in the air.  “I’ve never had to fight before.  King’s never once _asked_ me to fight before, and it’s been almost _seven years_ since we met.”

 

“What you’re already doing is important to your Clan,” Sawada said after a thoughtful minute.  “Suoh-san probably thinks that is enough.”

 

“But _that’s_ never happened before.  Anna’s never been in any real danger before,” Tatara burst out, and then tacked on with something very close to spite, “You wouldn't know how it feels to be completely defenceless.”

 

Tatara paused, a rush of guilt rising in his throat, and an apology immediately sprang to his lips, but Sawada was talking before he could open his mouth again.

 

“Yes I do,” The brunet said adamantly, eyes as calm and cool as that day during the battle.  “I know very well what it feels like to not be able to do anything while someone you cared about is hurt.  To be completely useless even though you’re _right there_ and the only choice you have is to wait and hope that someone stronger will come in time to save them.”

 

Tatara gaped, no words coming to mind.

 

“I wasn't born an expert in martial arts, Totsuka-san,” Sawada smiled sardonically.  “I was actually pretty useless when I was a kid.  I did badly in school, couldn't do sports to save my life, and was pretty much every bully’s wet dream.”

 

Tatara still had the presence of mind to blush at the metaphor.

 

“Back then, the only one I had to care about was myself,” Sawada continued, gaze growing distant.  “And half the time, I hated myself for being so weak, unable to defend myself when other kids stole my lunch or shoved me around.”

 

“Wh- What changed?”  Tatara stammered, mesmerized.  He couldn't really imagine this man to ever be completely powerless.

 

Sawada smiled again, this time more genuinely.  “I met someone.  Or rather, someone forced their way into my life and wouldn't leave.”

 

The brunet’s tone grew fond.  “At first, I thought that bastard was just as bad as the bullies always on my tail.”

 

“But he wasn't?”  Tatara surmised.

 

Sawada chuckled.  “Oh he wasn't.  He was much, _much_ worse.  You should’ve seen some of the methods he used to wake me up in the morning so I wouldn't be late for school.  Ice water, electric shocks, you name it.  And my homework was absolute torture after he started helping me, so much that I was determined to get everything right as soon as possible so nothing would happen to me.”

 

Tatara stared, perplexed and mildly horrified.  If that person was so bad, why was Sawada grinning like a loon?  The exasperated affection on the brunet’s face was unmistakeable.

 

“I started making friends after he came though,” Sawada said, and Tatara perked up, intrigued.  “To this day, I still don’t know how it happened.  I mean, I had no one for the first thirteen years of my life, and then suddenly, there were all these people around me who _liked_ hanging out with me.”

 

The brunet paused, nostalgia colouring his features this time, and Tatara sorely wanted to ask where those friends were now.

 

“There were hardships too, obstacles we had to overcome, people we had to fight to keep living the way we wanted,” Sawada’s smile softened.  “Fight to return to the place we call home and watch the fireworks with each other.

 

“And to do that,” The brunet concluded.  “We grew stronger.  It was the only way.”

 

“So you’ll- Could you- Could you teach me then?”  Tatara pleaded earnestly.  “You understand, don’t you?  Why I have to get stronger.  If Anna gets- I’ll do whatever you tell me to.  Please teach me!”

 

Sawada frowned, and Tatara fought the dismay that welled up inside him at the refusal already surfacing on the older man’s features.

 

“And that’s what I don’t get,” Sawada said.  “Shouldn't you be asking Suoh-san for this sort of thing?  He _is_ your King after all.”

 

“King might- He might not approve,” Tatara said miserably.

 

Sawada stared at him for a long unblinking moment.

 

“I'm not going to teach you,” Sawada finally decided, but before Tatara could feel more than the first stirrings of disappointment, the brunet added, “Until you at least talk to Suoh-san about it.  In addition to being your friend, he’s also your leader.  It would be disrespectful of me to go behind his back, even if it is for a good cause.

 

“It also means,” Sawada’s eyes narrowed.  “That you don’t trust him to give you the freedom to make your own decisions even if you are under his command.  And that’s something I can’t accept.  Not from him, nor from you.”

 

Tatara flinched, paling.  He hadn't thought about it like that.

 

“King isn’t like that,” He hurriedly defended.  “He’s not controlling or anything.  It’s just- It’s just me.  I guess- I guess it’s been a while since I last really talked to anyone about... myself.”

 

It had been, he realized as he watched Sawada nod in acknowledgement.  It had been a very long time since he had dealt with his own troubles and not those of others.

 

“Now then,” Sawada got to his feet, packing away the lunchbox.  “My break is almost over and I have to make a trip to the bathroom.  Go talk to Suoh-san, and then get back to me.  And please thank Kusanagi-san for me.  The lunch was delicious.”

 

“Mm, I will,” Tatara said dazedly as he waved goodbye to the brunet and headed back out.

 

“Had a good lunch?”  A simpering voice reached his ears.

 

Tatara turned a polite smile on the woman from before.  Kitagawa, wasn't it?  “Yes, Sawada-san liked it very much.”

 

Kitagawa giggled again, eyes glinting slyly.  “That’s not all he had, was it?  You were in there for a _long_ time.”

 

“Yes, it was.  And we were talking,” Tatara said firmly, inclining his head cordially before turning away again.  He stopped two steps later and turned back, something fierce burning in his chest.  “And Kitagawa-san?”

 

The woman looked surprised but answered promptly.  “Yes?”

 

Tatara kept his smile firmly plastered to his face as he continued pleasantly, “Please stop spreading rumours about Sawada-san.  None of them are true, and it is very rude.  You could hurt his feelings.”

 

Kitagawa blinked, and then something nearing a sneer twisted her features.  “I only speak my mind and give my opinion on what I see.  Hardly illegal, is it?  You shouldn't flaunt the fact that you’re his lover if you don’t want me picking it up.”

 

Tatara’s eyes closed and his smile widened.  “No, no, you’re mistaken.  We are not lovers.  Please do not imply it again, or anything else about Sawada-san.”

 

Kitagawa drew herself up indignantly, nose in the air.  “I will not be ordered-”

 

“You misunderstand me, Kitagawa-san,” Tatara cut in, still cheery and lighthearted even as he extended one hand and drew forth the never-used Aura that had coiled itself around his soul with dormant patience ever since Mikoto had accepted him into HOMRA.

 

He only managed a faint outline of crimson around his hand, and even that was a struggle, but it was enough.  The woman turned white.

 

“HOMRA,” She whispered, suddenly looking very small.

 

People often took one look at Tatara and thought weak or naive or not-a-threat.  It was positively laughable to an outsider when they saw him standing beside his Clansmen, more fragile than the rest.

 

But the Red King’s Aura had accepted him for a reason.  If Tatara was unfit, he would never have gained entrance into HOMRA.

 

He allowed his eyes to sharpen and his smile to take on the faintest hint of an edge, pushed aside the cheerfulness that had defined his personality for the past decade, and stared straight at the woman.

 

“Please stop spreading rumours about Sawada-san,” He repeated, voice dark.  “Do you understand this time, Kitagawa-san?”

 

Kitagawa quailed and nodded frantically.

 

Tatara dropped his hand and let his Aura fade, calling up a far friendlier smile again.  “Oh good, what a relief.  I don’t want to cause problems for Sawada-san.  Well, have a nice day!”

 

With a shallow bow, Tatara turned and swept out of the bookstore, ignoring both the slight shame in the pit of his stomach when he recalled the woman’s fear and the exhilarated satisfaction that came with the underhanded accomplishment.

 

Sometimes, his own mind scared him like nothing else.

 

**~October, 13 th Day~**

 

                “King?”

 

                Mikoto glanced up from the book he was reading, eyeing the way Tatara was hovering anxiously in the doorway of the sitting room.  “Hm?”

 

                The brunet smiled distractedly, tugging at the cuff of one sleeve as he stepped further into the room.  “I- Can I talk to you?”

 

                Mikoto studied him for a moment before putting his book aside and nodding at the armchair, remaining impassive even as Tatara beamed gratefully at him and shuffled towards the chair.

 

                For several minutes, Tatara only fiddled with the hem of his shirt and Mikoto was content to wait it out.

 

Of all his Clansmen, it would be this reckless idiot who could never seem to understand the value of his own life that baffled him most.  From the beginning, Tatara had pledged his loyalty to him without a heartbeat’s hesitation, had called him King even before Mikoto had _become_ King, and had proceeded to make HOMRA an actual home for all the people who joined up after him.  Mikoto had always been more than a little relieved for Tatara’s presence.  He himself was certifiably bad at heart-to-heart chats while Tatara was excellent at it.

 

And yet, for someone so open all the time, the idiot never really talked about himself.  Mikoto knew that the brunet had parents who were too busy to give a rat’s ass about their only child’s whereabouts, and that he had been well-liked back during school, acquaintances with everybody but friends with no one.  That really was all Mikoto knew of Tatara before they had met.

 

And once they had met, Tatara had always been so happy, jumping from hobby to hobby with the attention span of an excited puppy and always worrying about the others and not himself.  Mikoto had tried to prod the brunet about the more personal aspects of his life but those attempts always started awkwardly and Tatara always assured him that he was fine, and the topic would be dropped.

 

Tatara coming to Mikoto to talk about what looked like something weighing on his mind was definitely a first, and Mikoto sincerely hoped he didn't botch this.  He spared a second to wish Izumo was here.  After Tatara, the blond was the best at handling situations like this.

 

Then again, if Tatara had come specifically to him, the brunet had probably waited until Izumo had taken Anna out for a walk.  His Third could be quite cunning when he wanted to be.

 

The stir of red Aura yanked him from his thoughts and his eyes widened slightly when he found Tatara holding up a shimmering hand, the red pulsing steadily in the room.

 

It was quite literally the first time Mikoto had ever seen Tatara activate his Aura.  There was even a time, at the beginning, when he had found himself wondering if something had gone wrong with the initiation process and Mikoto’s Aura had, for whatever reason, failed to transfer over to the brunet.

 

                The light fluctuated and then sputtered out.  Tatara smiled rather ruefully as he lowered his hand again.  “I can’t hold it for very long.  Serves me right for not using it for so many years.”

 

                Mikoto arched an eyebrow, silently prompting the brunet to go on.

 

                Tatara’s expression firmed, and Mikoto blinked at the resolve that stared back at him.  It was the same look he had received long ago when Tatara had declared that he would become Mikoto’s vassal, and Mikoto knew that whatever Tatara said next, it would be happening one way or another.

 

                “I want to learn how to fight,” The brunet announced.

 

                Outwardly, Mikoto remained stoic.  Inwardly, Mikoto frowned in complete consternation.  Fighting?  He had thought they’d be talking about guilt over Anna’s almost kidnapping (as they would be had it been anyone else in Tatara’s position), or at least about the fight in the bar.

 

                He didn't think Tatara would jump straight to something like this.

 

                “Why?”  He asked bluntly.  If it was out of guilt, he’d shake the idiot.

 

                “Because I was useless last week,” Tatara replied with equal frankness.

 

                Mikoto observed the brunet intently.  “So were the rest of us.”

 

                “Not as much as I was,” Tatara persisted.

 

                Mikoto closed his eyes, scoffing silently.  “Yes, we were.  It wasn't any of us who saved Anna.”

 

                “But if it had been any one of you smuggling Anna out, you would’ve gotten her away,” Tatara pointed out obstinately.  “All I did was get myself shot.  I don’t want that to happen again, King.”

 

                _He doesn't mean not getting shot again,_ Mikoto concluded somewhat wearily.  _Just not endangering Anna again._

 

                The idiot was still the same as he was seven years ago, sitting alone in a hospital after getting beaten up for being seen trailing after Mikoto.

 

                He put the unsettling thought on standby for now, scanning Tatara’s slim frame.

 

                “Do you want me to teach you?”  Mikoto wouldn't mind, it might even be interesting, but he didn't think HOMRA’s relatively unorthodox, individual fighting style would suit Tatara.  Brute force and improvisation just wouldn't fit the brunet who didn't know how to fight at all.

 

All of HOMRA’s members had at least gotten into a few street fights before they had joined and knew the basics of winning a scuffle, but that wasn't a good basis for teaching anyone.  Tatara would be better off getting proper instruction somewhere.

 

                But Tatara had already brightened.  “You’re okay with it?”

 

                Mikoto grunted an affirmative.  “Izumo might be best if you want to learn though.”

 

                Tatara faltered.  “Ah, is- is it alright if I choose my own teacher?”

 

                Mikoto raised an eyebrow.  “Who did you have in mind?”

 

                Tatara’s smile took on an odd edge, warm but contemplative at the same time.  “Sawada-san promised to teach me if I talked to you about it.”

 

                Mikoto stilled.  “I see.”

 

                “Is that alright?”  Tatara pressed.  “I know Sawada-san isn’t part of HOMRA but he-”

 

                _Fits._

 

                The word floated between them, echoing stridently as if it refused to be ignored.

 

                “That’s fine,” Mikoto said at last.  “If he doesn't have a problem with it, go ahead.”

 

                Tatara straightened, breaking out into a grin as he got to his feet once more.  “I’ll figure out a schedule with him.  Thanks, King.”

 

                Mikoto nodded, gaze following his Third out of the room before picking up his book again.

 

_“Sawada-san promised to teach me if I talked to you about it.”_

 

                The man could've just as easily agreed and Tatara would never have been pushed into actually talking to Mikoto about it.

 

                With a sigh, he shifted and languidly stretched out on the couch, dropping his open book over his face to block the light.

 

                He didn't know what to make of that man.  Sawada Tsunayoshi was powerful, certainly, on par with Mikoto himself at the very least, but the brunet belonged to no Clan and Mikoto had never seen anyone else with eyes that turned the colour of fire when they fought.

 

                Sawada respected territory though.  The man knew, instinctively or otherwise, not to encroach on HOMRA and divide them, no matter in how small a way, and that soothed the small, subconscious knot of apprehension in his gut.

 

                Mikoto hadn't missed the way Izumo got along famously with Sawada, as if the two had been friends for far longer than that one month of September, and while he had promised himself that he wouldn't get jealous, had scoffed at it even, a tiny fragment of the emotion had still sparked in his chest.  Izumo was his first and oldest friend after all.  He’d be hard-pressed to admit it even on pain of death but he couldn't imagine his life without the constant presence of his best friend.

 

                Another reason for the jealousy might be because Sawada was like Mikoto in terms of power, stronger than the others, but while Izumo sometimes had difficulties relating to Mikoto, their conversations slightly stilted whenever they approached King business, the blond never seemed to with Sawada.  Of course, those two didn't talk about King business in the first place, but it was the principle of the matter.

 

                Maybe it was because the enigmatic brunet always emanated an impression of calmness and welcome that Mikoto lacked.  Sawada put people at ease, his power so tightly reigned and united with himself that others weren’t even wary of him.

 

                And even with so little to go on, Mikoto _knew_ that Sawada just wasn't the sort to lose control like Mikoto did on an increasingly regular basis.

 

                He sighed, plucking the book up, got ready to toss it to the ground, remembered it wasn't his, and carefully placed it down on the coffee table instead.  Izumo hated it when people didn't handle his books with care.

               

                He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes for a nap.  It would be interesting to see how Sawada trained Tatara.

 

**~October, 14 th Day~**

 

                “Tatara’s going to learn how to fight?”  Izumo asked, almost dropping the pan he had just finished drying.

 

                Mikoto glanced up at him, eyes half-lidded but assessing.  “You don’t approve?”

 

                Izumo adjusted his glasses, sighing heavily.  “The question isn’t whether or not I approve, Mikoto.”

 

                He fell silent for a moment, trying to imagine Tatara _fighting_.  “Did you know, back before Eric first joined up, he asked me and Kousuke who the top fighter was.  You aside, Kousuke said me.”

 

                He paused again.  Mikoto tilted back his head, gaze steady.  “True enough.”

 

                Izumo huffed an amused laugh as he put the pan away.  “I'm flattered, Mikoto, but am I honestly the only one who can see it?”

 

                For once, Mikoto looked slightly confused.  Izumo shook his head.  “After me, Kousuke said Yata.  He didn't get it either.”

 

                He stopped briefly, leaning back against the counter.  “Eric asked about Tatara next.  Everyone does.  That idiot laughs and sulks and jokes so carelessly that he doesn't seem like he belongs with us at all.”

 

                He turned solemn, looking Mikoto straight in the eye.  “But if he came with us when we go and face off against yakuza and even Scepter 4, if he could fight, everything would be easier.  Even our enemies would lower their guard around him, and you know how Tatara can talk.  A silver tongue coupled with fighting ability as backup in case he can’t distract them or turn them onto our side entirely – they wouldn't know what hit them.”

 

A few heartbeats of silence ticked by before Izumo finished matter-of-factly, “If Tatara could fight, I wouldn't be the strongest in your Clan, Mikoto.”

 

Mikoto blinked at him, considering his words, and then nodded once but said nothing.

 

“You asked if I approved,” Izumo pushed off the counter when the coffee machine beeped.  “Of course I do.  Like I said, it would make all our jobs a lot easier, and it’d be nice if Anna didn't have to see so much violence, at least not for a while longer.  But it would change things.  For one, obviously, we wouldn't have to fight as much.”

 

“Isn't that a good thing?”  Mikoto enquired mildly.

 

Izumo shot him a flat stare.  This was one thing he understood.  “I don’t know – you tell me.”

 

Mikoto’s gaze sharpened again.  Izumo stared back avidly.  He might not understand what Mikoto went through with the burden of a King on his shoulders and a Sword of Damocles hanging over his head all the time, but he did understand that the fights were an outlet of sorts.  Mikoto liked fighting, but if it was just that, the redhead wouldn't have any problems cutting back.  He enjoyed peaceful times too after all.

 

But Izumo could see that the power Mikoto had was sometimes too much, and the extra Aura, eager to be released, had to go somewhere.  The fights they got into was a way to balance that.

 

“I’ll manage,” Mikoto grunted, turning away effectively ending the conversation.

 

Izumo acquiesced silently, not pushing.  A part of him didn't want to.  Unbeknownst to even Mikoto and something he didn't want to acknowledge himself, one of his greatest fears was that, one day, Mikoto would burn too brightly and end up consuming himself.

 

**~October, 18 th Day~**

 

                “Tatara?”

 

                Tatara glanced up blearily at the surprised tone as he stumbled into the sitting room, collapsing onto the couch with little grace.  “Morning, Izumo-san.”

 

                “What the hell happened to you?”  Izumo asked, looking somewhat perturbed.

 

                “He’s a slave driver, I tell you!”  Tatara groaned.  “Up at the crack of dawn, and it was all ‘Totsuka-san, you’re thin, not fit, now start running.  Ten laps around the entire apartment.  Complain, and it’ll be twenty.  Get going.’  I'm gonna _die_!”

 

                There was a drawn-out silence, and then, to Tatara’s indignation, Izumo chuckled.  “It’s not funny!”

 

                “Sure it is,” The blond retorted with far too much good humour.  “You brought this on yourself.  Are you finished for the day?”

 

                “No,” Tatara threw an arm over his eyes as he grumbled.  “That Spartan said I had a one hour break, and then he’s going to start me on katas.”

 

                “He doesn't have work today?”  The blond recalled.

 

                “He’s taking Sundays off from now on, and he’s cutting back his hours at the bookstore so he’ll get off at four instead of five-thirty,” Tatara revealed, feeling a spike of guilt at this.  “I tried to talk him out of it but he said that if he was going to train me properly, he couldn't just cram everything in between.”

 

                “Well, good luck with that,” Izumo waved and headed out of the room.  “I’ll make you something to eat.  Oh, and as your good friend, I think you should go take a shower.  You stink.”

 

                If Tatara had had the strength, he would’ve thrown a pillow at the blond’s head.

 

**~October, 25 th Day~**

 

                “Keep your elbow tucked in, tighten your spin, and release your foot faster,” Sawada instructed calmly as Totsuka clambered up again, panting hard.

 

Without a word of complaint, the latter adjusted his stance and then executed the move, faking a punch and then whirling to the side before lashing out with one foot.  And for the umpteenth time that day, said foot smacked against a solid palm before Totsuka wavered and then lost his balance once more.

 

“Watch your balance,” Sawada said patiently.  “Your stance is off when you turn.  You’re not shifting your weight completely.”

 

A determined nod on Totsuka’s part, and then he was up again, shaking out his legs before surging forward once more.

 

“Man, Totsuka-san is kinda scary like this,” Misaki commented as he eyed the single-minded concentration on Totsuka’s face with no little trepidation.  “Is that guy teaching him properly anyway?”

 

“Looks proper,” Dewa observed.  “Definitely cleaner than anything we dish out.”

 

Misaki clicked his tongue in annoyance but said nothing as he glanced sidelong at Mikoto and Kusanagi.  Both were lounging against the wall, relaxed and conversing quietly with each other as they kept half an eye on the two brunets in the gym.

 

HOMRA had booked the place when Sawada had said that he needed somewhere to spar with Totsuka.  Shouhei of all people had suggested this training centre and Izumo had gone ahead and booked one of the smaller gyms for the day.

 

Misaki was still trying to figure out when Sawada had joined HOMRA.  Had he missed a memo or something?  Since when did they hang with an outsider anyway?

 

(And he still hadn't entirely dismissed the spy theory.  The scene with Scepter 4 was admittedly hilarious but _still_.)

 

“Alright, we’re done for the day,” Sawada finally called out.  “Keep working on the new katas I assigned tomorrow.  Now cool down with a jog around the gym.  Good job today.”

 

Totsuka actually grinned, exhausted and sweaty but genuinely happy at the praise.  Misaki supposed that Sawada didn't throw compliments around much.

 

He started when brown eyes glanced across the expanse of the gym and met his briefly.  A polite smile and a friendly nod in his direction made him scowl off to the side, crossing his arms.

 

It was unnerving how much Sawada reminded him of a mix of Totsuka and Mikoto, and maybe even some Kusanagi thrown into the mix.

 

**~October, 30 st Day~**

 

                “He’s just a civilian,” Izumo said in an easygoing tone even as he planted himself firmly in the narrow doorway of their temporary home.  “He and I are on friendly terms though, and he agreed to put us up for a while until our home is repaired.”

 

                “Nevertheless, we have our orders,” The Scepter 4 member – Asanuma Something; Izumo had forgotten – drew himself to his full height, which was still, unfortunately, shorter than Izumo’s own slouched frame.  “Munakata-taichou wants us to look into the incident of September thirtieth carefully, and we believe further investigation of Sawada Tsunayoshi is necessary.  Step aside, Kusanagi.”

 

                Izumo arched an eyebrow at the blatant disrespect but paid it no mind.  Instead, he leaned against the doorframe and made no move to get out of the way as he casually lit a cigarette.  “Don’t you know it’s bad manners to enter someone’s house without the owner’s invitation?”

 

                Asanuma was swiftly turning red.  The man had always had a ridiculously short fuse, even more so than Yata or that other Scepter 4 guy, Doumyouji, and _he_ was probably still nursing a grudge from that Strain affair several months ago when Basashi had planted a horseshoe into his face.

 

“We are the police!”  Asanuma blustered.  “Get out of the way or we’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice!”

Izumo very nearly snorted out loud but arranged his features into a look of disinterested tolerance instead.  “Come back with a search warrant and I’ll be happy to let you in.  Otherwise, you should really clear off.  I may not like your captain, but he’s strict with his laws.  He won’t be happy to hear that you've been threatening innocent people with arrest because you want to break into someone’s house.  Now scram.”

 

“How dare you!”  Asanuma’s hand went for his sword but Izumo was quicker, thrusting the lit butt of his cigarette into the man’s face, stopping half an inch from his nose and making the Scepter 4 member go cross-eyed.

 

“You overstep your bounds,” Izumo said, voice dropping in volume even as it flattened into something more dangerous.  “Just because Scepter 4 runs the country doesn't mean you’re all-powerful.  Don't let it get to your head, _kid_.”

 

The cigarette butt flashed a cautionary red, and while Asanuma’s pride looked to be in the process of trying to stay above water, the man’s brain finally kicked in and he backed off.

 

“Munakata-taichou will be hearing of this!”  The man hissed before stalking off.

 

Izumo closed his eyes and breathed in a lungful of smoke before putting it out and turning back into the house, closing the door behind him.

 

How troublesome.  Then again, Scepter 4 always was.

 

**~October, 31 st Day~**

 

                “No sign of the black flames, Mikoto.  The yakuza have been quiet.”

 

                “Hm.  I don’t want anyone going near them until we figure out a way to defend ourselves.”

 

                “Aa, I already told everyone.  ...What about Sawada-san?  Someone from Scepter 4 came by yesterday wanting to search this place.”

 

                “...We’ll assume he can take care of himself for now.  Run interference with Scepter 4.”

 

                “Understood.”

 

**Please leave a review on your way out.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: Tsuna would have just turned twenty-four in October (chapter 2), a year younger than Izumo (who’s twenty-five, twenty-six come April) but a year older than Mikoto (who’s twenty-three, twenty-four come August).
> 
> Some people have theories on what has happened to Tsuna and how he got to where he is, etc, but I won’t say anything here. I’ve had a few people who are heading in the right direction but I won’t confirm anything right now.
> 
> Not much Mikoto in this chapter but I’ll bring him in gradually as the fic moves along.
> 
> Saruhiko will eventually make an appearance; not quite sure when that’ll be yet.
> 
> (Note: Brunet for male, brunette for female.)

**~November, 1 st Day~**

 

                “Half-half – that’s fair.”

 

                “Three-quarters – it’s not up for debate.”

 

                “But-”

 

                “Are you going to argue about this every single time?  Tatara was right; we should’ve just locked you in your room.”

 

                “What am I – a kid?”

 

                “That would be an insult to kids.  Anna’s better-behaved than you are.”

 

                “Anna-chan’s better-behaved than _everyone_.”

 

                “True enough.  Alright, _Tatara’s_ better-behaved.  What does that say about you?”

 

                “Hmm, that I should sneak out in the dead of night the next time I want to do _my_ shopping?”

 

                Seri paused in the next aisle.  She knew Izumo’s voice when she heard it but the other didn't sound like any of the HOMRA members.  Turning a corner, she paused when she caught sight of the blond standing beside a shorter brunet with a shopping cart between them.  The albino girl – and Seri still couldn't understand how HOMRA could be so irresponsible as to allow a child into their volatile midst, but it wasn't her place to say anything – was standing next to the cart, now staring directly at her.

 

                Of course, Izumo had probably sensed her the moment she had stepped into view, even with his back turned, and indeed, the blond was already turning in her direction in the few seconds it took for her to match the brown-haired man to the civilian who had been caught in the fight between HOMRA and the yakuza.

 

                “Seri-chan,” Izumo greeted, glancing at her from behind his signature sunglasses, and Seri nodded back cordially, more than resigned with the familiar address.  The other man, Sawada, wheeled around, eyes widening in surprise.  She thought there might’ve been something off about the reaction but couldn't quite say what.

 

                “Sawada-san, you’ve met Awashima Seri,” Izumo introduced as Seri approached.  “She’s Scepter 4’s Vice-Captain.”

 

                “It’s nice to meet you, Awashima-san,” Sawada held out a hand, smiling warmly at her.  “Again, I mean.”

 

                Seri found herself smiling back.  Sawada seemed more open now that he wasn't in the middle of a crime scene and surrounded by bodies and police officers.  “Nice to meet you too, Sawada-san.”

 

                “Doing your shopping then?” Izumo enquired, idly grabbing a box of cereal from the shelf beside them and passing it to Anna, who carefully placed it amongst the other items already piled inside.

 

                “Yes,” Seri nodded, briefly hefting the basket she was holding.  “I do my shopping on Sundays.”

 

                “So do we,” Izumo began pushing the cart again, lazily scanning the shelves as they strolled forward.  “Or at least we do now.  Tatara’s usually the one who gets the groceries but Sawada-san insisted and I came as well to make sure we _divide the cost_.”

 

                The last bit was accompanied by a pointed look in Sawada’s direction, who stubbornly scowled right back.

 

                “I can pay for myself,” The brunet huffed.

 

                “If that’s pride talking, I'm going to hit you,” Izumo warned cheerfully, much to Seri’s growing astonishment as she watched them banter.

 

                Sawada rolled his eyes.  “I’ve never been ruled by pride.  Pride can’t put food on the table.  I just think it’s only fair to-”

 

                It was Anna who interjected next, not saying anything per usual but reaching up and swatting lightly at Sawada’s arm instead.  There was a brief, stunned silence as the little girl stared up at them with big amaranthine eyes.

 

                And then Izumo snorted a laugh.  “Hah, even Anna’s gotten tired of your objections.  Best just to drop it, Sawada-san.  You’re not winning this one.  All arguments from this point on will be ignored.”

 

                Sawada shot both HOMRA members a rather exasperated look but his mouth twitched and he extended a hand to take Anna’s into his own, dropping his complaints for the moment.

 

                The girl didn't smile – Seri was certain that that was not normal either; she secretly thought Anna to be a bit strange – but her fingers tightened around Sawada’s hand.

 

                Now, as far as Seri knew, HOMRA hadn't gained any new members in the last month so Sawada couldn't possibly have joined up with the Red Clan, right?  Unless, of course, it was very recent and Scepter 4 hadn't yet heard of it.

 

                But from the reports her men had turned in as well as what she had seen at the bar a month ago, Sawada wasn't really HOMRA material.  Was the brunet another Totsuka?  She couldn't understand why the violence-prone Red King would allow this man entry.  Totsuka, as she had heard from Izumo and had been mentioned in passing by Fushimi, was a long-time friend to HOMRA’s King and Second, so that was somewhat understandable, but this one as well?

 

                “Have you joined HOMRA too?”  She interjected during a lull in the two men’s conversation.  She was off-duty but it wouldn't hurt to update Munakata about anything new in HOMRA’s hierarchy.

 

                Izumo shot her a swift, unreadable look but didn't react beyond watching her with uncharacteristically guarded eyes despite his continued relaxed bearing.

 

Sawada only blinked her, startled.  “HOMRA?  Nah, I haven’t joined anything.  Kusanagi-san, Anna-chan, Suoh-san, and Totsuka-san are just bunking at my place until theirs is fixed up.  They should be able to move back by the end of the week actually.”

 

                It might’ve been a trick of the light but Seri thought that a discontented frown had passed over Izumo’s face at Sawada’s words, although the blond had turned away before she could be sure.  Anna was as blank as ever.  The girl would probably make a terrifying poker player if anyone ever thought to teach her.

 

                But Sawada wasn't HOMRA, just someone who was temporarily putting up a few of the Clan’s members.  She knew, if not before then certainly now, that Izumo and Sawada were friends, and that they were all living in Sawada’s apartment, but she hadn't thought that they were close enough to spend time with each other outside of that capacity.  HOMRA was a tight-knit group.  They had never willfully interacted with anyone outside of their Clan before, Izumo and Totsuka being the only exceptions, one because he ran a bar – and had somehow become a distant, mutually beneficial acquaintance to Seri – and the other because he was... well, Totsuka.

 

                “I see,” She said out loud, and then checked her watch.  If she hurried, she could drop by her King’s office and tell him of Sawada’s odd friendship with HOMRA.  It was worth keeping an eye on, after all.  If Sawada wasn't HOMRA right now but the Red Clan still insisted on hanging around him, then perhaps it was only a matter of time, which meant that the brunet must have something of value to bring into HOMRA.

 

                “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Seri said briskly.  “I’m just about done anyway.”

 

                “Ah,” Izumo waved a distracted farewell.  “Stop by my bar sometime once it’s up and running again.”

 

                With a last nod, Seri ducked down the next aisle and headed for the checkout counter, slowing just enough to catch the beginnings of another exchange.

 

                “You know she-”

 

                “Yeah, I don’t really mind.”

 

                “Scepter 4 can be tenacious.”

 

                “I’ll manage.  I've handled tenacious people before.”

 

                “Hmm.  Just be careful.  They don’t run the country for nothing.”

 

                “Cautious of you.  I thought she was a friend?”

 

                “More an acquaintance, really.  Besides, family first and all that.”

 

                “Oh, I'm family now, am I?”

 

                “Well, we already _live_ together...”

 

                Their voices faded away and Seri picked up her pace again, the slightest twinge of guilt coiling in her stomach.  So from the moment she had given in to the inclination of questioning Sawada, Izumo had already been on the lookout.

 

                Still, she had a job to do, and it wasn't as if it would really hurt anyone.  And she preferred Scepter 4 knowing what was going on so they wouldn't be caught off-guard at a later time, no matter how unlikely that was.

 

**~November, 2 nd Day~**

 

                As the latest report about the city’s yakuza activity wound down to a close, Reisi nodded and dismissed the officer for the day.  He waited until the door closed behind the man before returning to his paperwork.

 

                He didn't bother picking up his pen as his thoughts strayed from the task at hand again.

 

                Yesterday’s impromptu meeting with his lieutenant had troubled him somewhat.  He knew HOMRA, knew what a majority of them were like when it came to outsiders, yet he now had two accounts from two different people about the same Clan taking a liking to someone who fit that description to a T.

 

                If it had just been Asanuma, Reisi would probably have brushed it off in the end.  The new Scepter 4 officer was far too hotheaded and arrogant, and exaggerated his statements at times.  Unreliable.

 

                The Blue Clan was different from other Clans in this sense.  Anyone could join the police-based organization of Shizume City, but Reisi handpicked his own elite, and only those he approved of received the Scepter 4 insignia and blue Aura from him.  After all, it was never a good idea to give someone in power _more_ power if they didn't have the self-control to use it responsibly.

 

                As it was, Reisi required most members to go through training first – just like any other person who wished to apply for a job in law enforcement – before he’d so much as consider them.  There were exceptions of course, like Fushimi, who was defiant and headache-inducing on a good day but did adequate work when push came to shove, not to mention that the teen already had a good grasp on the inner workings of Auras and Clans after leaving HOMRA.

 

                But since the information came directly from his second-in-command this time, Reisi was hard-pressed to ignore it.  Apparently, this man, Sawada Tsunayoshi, hometown in Amagi, graduating with enough language diplomas to put Reisi’s entire Clan to shame, spent several years in Italy, ran into some money troubles, and now worked in both a bookstore and a diner here in Shizume – and wasn't it odd that he already had the name and what sparse information they had on the man memorized to the nth degree? – was confirmed as a non-HOMRA member, and had struck up quite the friendship with HOMRA’s Second.

 

                Reisi turned back to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out the file that he had been looking over ever since Awashima had come in yesterday.  Pulling out the copies of the diplomas, he scanned them carefully once more.  It had occurred to him that they could be fakes, but if they were, they were certainly very good forgeries.  He had even double-checked with the college Sawada had gone to and they had confirmed that the man had once been a student there.  Hacking came to mind of course, but there was nothing to suggest that Sawada was proficient with computers.

 

                Still, this wasn't the issue at the moment.  It wasn't as if Sawada was even using those diplomas to his advantage.  Working in a bookstore barely needed stellar Japanese, much less foreign languages, and all a chef needed was skills in cooking, something Sawada _didn't_ have a degree for but was in fact good enough to keep his job.

 

                No, the issue was that Asanuma had reported – ranted – about Kusanagi’s absolute refusal to allow entry to Sawada’s flat without an official warrant, something Reisi had refused Asanuma in the end.  They had no cause to search Sawada’s house – by all accounts, the man was just a good friend to Kusanagi and had offered a place for four of HOMRA’s members to stay out of the goodness of his own heart.

 

                Reisi didn't know Kusanagi Izumo as well as his lieutenant, and even Awashima didn't really know the blond either, but he had interacted enough with the bartender to acknowledge his professional efficiency and easy ability to take things in stride.  If Asanuma had wanted to poke around in the interior of the bar, Kusanagi probably would’ve allowed a quick tour of the bottom level, if only to get rid of the Scepter 4 member faster.

 

                So maybe it was because Asanuma had demanded to enter someone else’s abode?  But Asanuma had made it sound as if Kusanagi had insulted him and even threatened him, something Reisi couldn't actually see the easygoing bartender doing.

 

                So either Asanuma had _really_ put his foot in his mouth this time or there was something special about Sawada.

 

Or both.

 

                Not to mention...

 

                Reisi thought back to that day in the bar, when he had first pulled up outside the establishment.  Suoh Mikoto had always made him want to strangle someone, preferably the Red King himself, and whenever they were within each other’s vicinity, Reisi always made a point to keep an eye on Suoh at all times.  In his opinion, HOMRA’s King was a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off, and he wasn't going to let that happen by being careless.

 

                But strangely enough, when he had first stepped through the broken front doors of the building, it hadn't been Suoh that his eyes had instinctively flitted to.

 

                It had been the nondescript man sitting in the corner beside Kusanagi, by all means looking as if he was still half in shock and frightened out of his mind as he stared at the bodies around him.

 

                But some subconscious part of Reisi had gone in there and instantly labelled the brunet as a person of interest.

 

                He had dismissed it afterwards when, after a second and a third and even a fourth glance, the man had still retained his seemingly genuine shaken appearance, and the officer he had sent in to collect everyone’s statements had come back commenting on Sawada’s ‘wrong place, wrong time’ situation.

 

                But now, he wasn't so sure.  Thinking back, it definitely wasn't Sawada’s appearance or countenance that had called out to Reisi.  It had been something innate, much like how Suoh’s Aura set off alarms in his head when they got within a mile of each other.  Something in Sawada had brushed against Reisi’s own Aura, but, perhaps the most bizarre thing of all, _threat_ hadn't been the first thing that had come to Reisi’s mind.

 

                _Dangerous_ was closer to the truth, and even that wasn't it, not really.

 

                Suoh was both a threat and dangerous, mostly because Reisi could sense the Red King’s Aura thrashing under the man’s control, waiting greedily for the day that Suoh would no longer be able to hold it back, and every time Reisi saw the redhead again, he knew that that day was getting closer.

 

                It was one of the main reasons that he had ordered his Clan to keep such a close eye on HOMRA, not just because of their rash actions and barely-there discipline but because Reisi knew that all it would take to push Suoh over the edge was one upsetting incident, and that would be it.  The man’s control would slip with no way to recover it, and it would be the Kagutsu Crater all over again.  Another Red King’s reign would come to an end, and the man would probably take Shizume City with him in the fallout.

 

                Sawada on the other hand set off no such alarms in Reisi’s head, too calm, too collected, with control far better than Suoh Mikoto’s had ever been or could ever be.  The man was no King, of this he was certain, but the brunet was... _similar_ to a King.

 

                At least he had been in that single moment that Reisi had taken notice of Sawada.

 

                He sighed in a rare show of frustration, and then clapped the profile shut and put it away again before getting to his feet and grabbing his coat.  The paperwork could wait – he needed to clear his head before he started thinking in circles.

 

**~November, 6 th Day~**

 

                “Again!  Your movements are sloppy!  I’m not teaching you the Drunken Fist here, Totsuka-san!”

 

                Tatara cringed a little, and then yelped and ducked when a foot came flying in from his left, narrowly missing his head.  Without thinking, he dropped to the ground, tipped all his weight onto his hands, and then lashed out with his own leg, sweeping it forward in an attempt to knock his teacher over.

 

                Of course, the brunet had already sprang away, but Tatara had been expecting that ( _You know I'm stronger than you.  Always assume I’m already several steps ahead.  Do that with all unknown opponents.  Overestimate them; make them underestimate you._ ) and he followed up with an upwards kick that only sliced through thin air as he flipped back onto his feet.

 

                “Better,” Sawada said from his right, and before Tatara could fully regain his balance, his teacher had him on the ground with his arms pinned behind his back before he could blink.  “But you should never stop so close to an opponent.  If you need a breather, make sure whoever you’re facing isn’t two seconds away from taking you down.”

 

                “What if they have a gun?”  Tatara panted as Sawada released him and helped him back onto his feet.

 

                “Find cover,” Sawada said, and then amended, “Unless you’re fast enough to dodge.  You could block as well, with that Aura of yours, but it wastes energy, especially for you, so at the very least, you should put that off until you’re on your Clansmen’s levels.  Taking away their gun is a good idea as well, but you’re not that good yet.”

 

                Tatara nodded, shrugging his shoulders to alleviate the ache.  His muscles still hadn't quite gotten used to working so much.

 

                “You’re coming along though,” Sawada continued thoughtfully.  “You're making faster progress than I thought you would.”

 

                Tatara beamed.  It wasn't often that the brunet complimented him – usually, it was just instructions on what he should work on and how he should improve.

 

                “Yata, watch the-”

 

                They both looked up at the sound of splintering wood and cracking plaster, blinking after the now burnt doors swinging squeakily after a certain skateboarder.

 

“-door,” Izumo finished with a sigh.

 

A frozen attendant was standing by the gym doorway, and the exasperated bartender quickly made his way over as he pulled out a wallet to pay for the damages.

 

                Tatara sighed as well, running a hand through his hair.

 

                “Yata-kun has been even more short-tempered lately,” Sawada remarked casually from beside him.

 

                Tatara smiled half-heartedly, feeling tired from more than just the training session.  “Maa, it was like this last year too.  Kusanagi-san had to go and bail Yata out from Scepter 4’s holding cells after he left a trail of unconscious thugs all over the city.  HOMRA used to have one more member than we do now but he left about a year and a half ago.  He’s in Scepter 4 now.”

 

                “Hmm,” Sawada cocked his head, staring in the direction Yata had stormed off in.  “And Yata-kun took it especially hard?”

 

                Tatara shrugged helplessly.  This had been one problem he had never really been able to assist Yata through.  “The person who left was Yata’s best friend.  It’s his birthday tomorrow.”

 

                Sawada’s eyebrows rose but he didn't ask anymore.  “Ah, I see,” Was all he said, before ushering Tatara off in the direction of the change rooms.

 

                Tatara paused briefly just before he ducked into the showers, glancing back over his shoulder.  Sawada was still standing in the same spot, a contemplative look on his face.

 

**~November, 7 th Day~**

 

                “I’ll take that,” Yata said brusquely, whisking five of the cardboard boxes out of Bandou’s arms and stalking away, pushing roughly past Anna who stumbled a few steps to the side, almost losing her balance as Yata disappeared through a doorway without a backwards glance.

 

                Bandou took two steps forward to steady her, frowning after Yata but shrugging it off and shepherding a slightly tense-shouldered Anna back outside instead.

 

                Izumo watched the exchange with a frown.  If this continued, they might have to point Yata in the direction of some small-time gangsters soon.  Yata in this foul a mood had never been something any of them wanted to deal with.

 

Absently smoking his third cigarette of the day, he turned back to the counter, carefully opening a crate of cocktail glasses and proceeding to put them back on the rack.  The bar would be fit to open tomorrow since the entire Clan was pitching in to move everything back into their headquarters.

 

                “These go here?”  Sawada entered his peripheral vision, hoisting another crate onto the counter, this one filled with margarita glasses.

 

                “Aa,” Izumo nodded at the racks beside the ones he was filling.  “Just start stacking them there.”

 

                Sawada nodded and began removing each glass methodically.  They worked quietly for several minutes, the murmur of voices behind them rising and falling as the other HOMRA members came and went.

 

                “Thanks for letting us stay at your place,” Izumo was the first to break the silence.  “I don’t think we ever did thank you for that.”

 

                “As I recall,” An ironic smile curled at Sawada’s mouth.  “You conned your way into my flat.”

 

                Izumo couldn't hide a small grin.  “‘Con’ is such an extreme word.  I’d prefer ‘coming to an agreement’.”

 

                “Con,” Sawada maintained with a roll of his eyes, but the smile remained.  “It was no trouble.  Kinda nice having people around again.  I’ve almost forgotten what it was like.”

 

                Izumo could sense their conversation veering towards depressing territory and hastily steered it to something else that had been bothering him for a while now.  A part of him was curious about Sawada’s past but he respected the other man enough to know when to back off and not pry.

 

                “So about you getting itchy feet, so to speak,” Izumo glanced sidelong at the brunet.  “You said you would leave in a few weeks, maybe a few months, and that was a month ago.  Are you still...?”

 

                “Well, I made an agreement with Totsuka-san,” Sawada reminded.  “So I won’t leave until he can defend himself to a satisfactory degree, which, considering his progress, actually won’t be more than a few months more.  He’s picking up my lessons quite fast.”

 

                Izumo was tempted to have a word with Tatara and tell him to slow down.  Heck, the brunet would probably agree the moment he found out Sawada’s future plans, but Izumo quashed the urge.  If Sawada left, it might even be safer for him.  As far as he knew, the black flames were only appearing in Shizume City and the yakuza wouldn't bother pursuing one guy across the country.

 

                “Well then, in the meantime, you’ll still come by for an evening drink, right?”  Izumo reached out and tapped a bottle of Talisker already on the shelf.  He didn't particularly like the way Sawada consumed alcohol like water on such a daily basis but he couldn't really talk what with his smoking habits.

 

                Sawada chuckled, but a regretful expression surfaced.  “Might try to... cut back a bit.  Two or three glasses every single night isn’t exactly healthy.”

 

                Izumo hummed in agreement.  That was true enough.  He had made a note of observing Sawada’s drinking habits over the last month and had realized that, in the few times that the brunet brought something alcoholic back to the flat, Sawada never drank it inside, always sitting on the front stoop instead and never enough to even get tipsy.  Granted, Sawada had once drunk five glasses of Talisker in his bar back in September and had still left looking perfectly steady, but Izumo had soon grasped the fact that the brunet never drank in front of Anna, not when the two were living in such close quarters.

 

                “You don’t drink around Anna,” He pointed out now.  “At least not back at your place.  She’s been at the bar a few times when you came by regularly back in September.”

 

                “I don’t like drinking at home in front of children,” Sawada explained, his tone deliberately light.  “Bar’s one thing, especially since this place is a lot bigger and Anna-chan’s usually across the room and distracted by the others, but...”

 

                The brunet shrugged, picking out another two glasses and placing them onto the rack with a soft clink.  “My dad – he was... he worked overseas for most of my childhood while I lived with my mum in Japan, but when he did come back to visit, he always- he always lazed around in the living room in nothing but a pair of boxers with a crapload of beer cans around him while he watched TV or napped.  My mum was the one who had to clean up after him, and it was...”

 

                He trailed off again, and Izumo caught the briefest flash of bitter resentment on the man’s face.

 

                “I hated it,” Sawada finished quietly, staring avidly at the margarita glass he was holding.  “A bit stupid to hold onto something like that after all this time but I don’t ever want to do anything remotely like him, especially around other children.

 

                “Besides,” Sawada added with a wan grin.  “I don’t even like beer.”

 

                Izumo stayed silent, digesting this new information.  He barely knew anything about Sawada – it was nice to hear something about the brunet’s life, if not what his father was like.  Sawada’s old man sounded like the sort that people should divorce at the first opportunity.

 

                “When I was thirteen,” Sawada continued, and Izumo tried not to look too interested at his good fortune of catching the brunet in a talking mood.  Or maybe they were simply closer now and the shorter man felt he could confide.  “A few kids came to live with me and mom.  Two five-year-olds and one nine-year-old.  My dad came back for business shortly after, and God, I wanted to hit him when he broke out the alcohol right there in front of the children, half-drunk off his ass and snoozing on the floor in his boxers.”

 

                Izumo mulled this over, and then assured softly, “Anna’s got a good head on her shoulders.  She understands more than your average kid, especially since a few of the others swear when they think I’m not looking and more than one of us smoke quite a bit.”

 

                Sawada grimaced.  “All the same, now that Anna-chan hangs around me as well, I probably won’t be able to sit by myself in the corner and drink.”

 

                “Probably not,” Izumo agreed.  He paused, and then revealed fairly, “I don’t have any siblings myself.  My parents are normal people – they both live in Kyoto though.  I still keep in touch with them – visit them when I have time.”

 

“Sounds nice,” Sawada said, looking somewhat wistful as his gaze roamed around the room.  “You've got a nice family.”

 

Izumo almost asked where Sawada’s family was now but he had already made that mistake once.  He chanced a fleeting glance over at Mikoto who was halfway up the stairs with an armful of his belongings.  “You... You’re not looking to join HOMRA, are you?”

 

                Sawada smiled enigmatically at him.  “I'm afraid Suoh-san knows what he’s talking about.”

                _Perceptive_ , Izumo thought rather gloomily as he closed up the emptied crate.  If even Sawada personally declined entering HOMRA, then there really was no chance.

 

                “These go in the back, right?”  Sawada asked as he placed the lid back onto his own crate.  “I’ll take them.”

 

                “Thanks,” Izumo handed his over and watched the brunet walk away, only remembering that Yata was in the back as well when Sawada had turned a corner.

 

                “Oh well,” Izumo muttered.  “What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

                He thought of Yata and his shorter-than-usual fuse and, just the other day, his explosive temper towards Rikio for ‘breathing too loudly’, and then heaved a sigh and headed after Sawada.  The bar had just been fixed – he didn't want scorch marks on the wall anytime soon.

 

**~~**

 

                “Hello.”

 

                Misaki glanced up sharply at the greeting, the scowl on his face deepening when he caught sight of the brunet in the doorway, weighed down with a few crates.  He grunted noncommittally and turned back to the boxes he was cataloguing.

 

                Behind him, he could hear Sawada enter the room, footsteps shuffling somewhere to his right as the clunk of the crates against the ground echoed off the walls.  The rustle of bubble wrap sounded next and Misaki clamped down on his rising ire.

 

                Kusanagi preferred his boxes and crates wrapped up, Misaki reminded himself.  It prevented spiders and dust from getting inside.

 

                ( _“Wrapping up empty boxes?  That’s just plain weird, Kusanagi-san.”_ )

 

                Misaki kicked at one of the containers in a sudden fit of irritation.  Damn that monkey – bothering him even when he wasn't around.

 

                ( _“I joined Scepter 4.”_ )

 

                He kicked aggressively at the box again, and a wild burst of his Aura burnt a hole through the side.  He released a string of curses.  Kusanagi was going to kill him.

 

                “What did the box do to you?”  A mild voice enquired from behind him.

 

                Misaki twisted around, a snarl already twisting his expression as he finally found an outlet for his resentment.  “Shut the hell up!  What the fuck are you still doing here anyway?  You’re not even HOMRA!”

 

                His temper rose even further when Sawada only arched an eyebrow, as unperturbed as Mikoto and Kusanagi _combined_.

 

                Misaki leapt to his feet, scattering containers and plastic sheets everywhere as his hands balled into fists.  It didn't do his anger any favours when Sawada only half-turned in his direction, not even bothering to get to his feet.

 

                _Do something!_   Misaki raged silently.  _Do something so I can punch that condescending look off your face!_

 

                “Oi!  I asked you a question!”  Misaki barked, trying to antagonize the older man.  He needed to hit something, preferably something that would hit back and he could get into a proper brawl with them.

 

                Sawada tilted his head and raised the hand holding the bubble wrap.  “Wrapping up the crates.  Kusanagi-san is kind of weird about this sort of thing.”

 

                ( _“That’s just plain weird, Kusanagi-san.”_ )

 

                Misaki had surged forward and hauled the brunet up by the front of his shirt before his brain could catch up, and before common sense could kick in, he had slammed Sawada up against the shelves, the other items already stacked there thunking and rattling against each other.

 

                “Are you mocking me, you bastard?!”  He seethed, momentarily forgetting who he was even talking to.

 

                Infuriatingly enough, Sawada only stared down at him with calm eyes, making no move to even struggle.

 

                _Fight back, damn you!_   Misaki urged angrily, giving the man a forceful shake.

 

                “If it'll make you feel better, go ahead and hit me,” Sawada said blandly.  “Though I daresay it’ll still be about as satisfying as kicking a box.”

 

                Misaki’s eyes narrowed, his other hand all but shaking with a desire to just throw the first punch.

 

                Sawada’s gaze suddenly cooled into something more calculating.  “Your friend must've meant a lot to you if you’re still this worked up about it a year and a half later.  Betrayal always hurts the most-”

 

                Misaki watched with a clinical sort of fury and hollow satisfaction as Sawada crashed into the stool he had been sitting on and skidded across the floor in a limp heap.  He shook out his hand.  The bastard should be grateful he hadn't activated his Aura.

 

                “Shut the fuck up!”  Misaki spat out as the brunet pushed himself into a sitting position, a sizeable bruise already blossoming on one cheek.  “What the hell would you know?  You’ve managed to make Kusanagi-san and Mikoto-san pity you enough to let you hang around but you’re just some outsider who can’t mind his own damn business!”

 

                “And you’re a brat throwing a temper tantrum,” Sawada shot back bluntly, one hand coming up to sweep a few wayward bangs out of his eyes.  “Now I don’t know how you were raised, but in my world, when people bump into someone, it’s common courtesy to apologize, especially when they're children.  If you won’t talk through your issues with your family, then at the very least, keep them to yourself and don’t take them out on your friends.”

 

                Misaki saw red.  How dare this intruder tell him what to do?  Anna knew he was sorry!  He hadn't meant to bump into her earlier, and it hadn't even been that hard!

 

                He lunged, and this time, the familiar surge of heat rushed through his veins and exploded from his body, lashing out in Sawada’s direction with all the ferocity of a forest fire.

 

                Sawada dodged (and later, much later, Misaki would be very grateful for that), rolling to the side and bouncing back onto his feet as he avoided the flames.  Misaki whirled and released another burst of his Aura at the man’s chest to knock him on his ass, but Sawada only evaded nimbly, dancing away on light feet.

 

                Misaki snarled wordlessly, baring his teeth, but just as he tried to attack again, the brunet was suddenly _there_ , right the fuck in front of Misaki, and before he could blink, the older man had kicked his legs out from under him, flipped him onto his front, yanked one of his arms behind him, and pinned the other under one knee, all in the span of a heartbeat.

 

                “Hey,” Sawada began, but Misaki was struggling too agitatedly to take notice.  A glancing blow to the back of his head, more shocking than painful, made him jerk to a temporary halt.

 

                “Hey!”  Sawada said again, sharper this time.  “Put away the flames, or Aura, or whatever you call it.  Kusanagi-san won’t be pleased if you burn his storage room to the ground.  And calm the fuck down, kid.”

 

                “I ain’t a _kid_!”  He snapped, but while he still tried to free himself against the weight pinning him down, the whack to his head earlier had cleared some of the rage clouding his mind and he now made an effort to diffuse his Aura.

 

                “You’ll be a kid so long as you act like one,” Sawada retorted shortly.  “ _Calm down_.  _Now_.”

 

                Misaki growled and made one last valiant attempt at bucking the bastard off before falling limp.  Damn it, how the hell was Sawada so strong?  The man was just an ordinary civilian, albeit one who knew martial arts, but still.

 

                “Thank you,” Sawada said with the slightest trace of sarcasm, and released him.

 

                Misaki wasted no time rolling away, rising to a crouch and flexing the arm that Sawada had restrained.  His shoulder ached a little but nothing else seemed amiss.  He stayed hunkered down, watching Sawada warily.  The man had taken him down even when Misaki’s Aura had been activated, so he wasn't going to chance anything now, not to mention that – now that Misaki was thinking clearly – Kusanagi just might get even more pissed about this than the burnt box.

 

                Sawada made no move to attack, already on his feet with his frame relaxed and his hands in his pockets.

 

                “Feel better?”  The man enquired nonchalantly.

 

                “You just decked me!”  Misaki yelled.  “What do you think?!”

 

                “You hit me first,” Sawada pointed out reasonably.

 

                Misaki flushed red, pissed off and embarrassed.  “You were askin’ for it!  Who the hell told you to stick your nose into my business?”

 

                “You almost knocked Anna-chan over,” Sawada said quietly, but there was a steely quality to his voice that made Misaki instinctively straighten up.  “And Kusanagi-san, Totsuka-san, and even Kamamoto-kun have been following you around with a wallet for the past week.”

 

                Misaki reddened even further, bristling outwardly but feeling the first stirrings of guilt on the inside.

 

“...They haven’t said anything,” He finally muttered, scowling off to the side.

 

“So?”  Sawada challenged indifferently.  “Should they have to?  You said yourself – you’re not a kid, so stop acting like one.  Leaving a trail of destruction behind you without even apologizing for the damage you’ve caused isn’t exactly what you’d call the height of maturity, is it?”

 

Misaki glared hard at the brunet.  “What’s it to you anyway?  Don’t tell me what to do!  You’re not HOMRA-”

 

“No, I’m not,” Sawada interrupted.  “But I do consider Kusanagi-san a friend, and if he won’t say anything, then I will.  HOMRA’s none of my business, true, but this doesn't have anything to do with HOMRA.  This is just you being a brat.”

 

Misaki’s knuckles whitened but he managed to keep a lid on his temper this time.  For now.

 

“What would you know?!”  He burst out indignantly as he rose from his crouch, kicking the nearby fallen stool right-side-up again before dropping down to sit on it.  “You don’t even know what today is-”

 

“Your friend’s birthday,” Sawada cut in once more.  “Totsuka-san mentioned it.”

 

Misaki glowered darkly at the brunet.  “He’s _not_ my friend.”

 

Sawada had the gall to chuckle.  “’Course he is.  You wouldn't be anywhere near this hung up on it if he wasn't.”

 

Misaki opened his mouth to throw back a scathing retort, only to close it again when the words didn't quite make it past his throat for some reason.  Saru _wasn't_ his friend anymore, damn it!  Misaki had said as much when he had cut ties with the monkey that day.

 

For the next few seconds, he sat fuming in silence, only looking up when he heard Sawada move.  The brunet only returned to his previous task though, snagging the other stool instead and starting on the bubble wrap again with his back facing Misaki.

 

“If you want to talk about it,” Sawada suggested offhandedly after several minutes.  “I'm as good as anyone to vent on.”

 

Misaki scoffed, crossing his arms.  “ _Why_ would I wanna talk to you about _anything_?”

 

“Because I’m an outsider,” Sawada quipped without turning around.  “I don’t even know your friend’s name, much less anything else.  Impartiality usually makes the best listeners.”

 

 _Fuck off!_   Misaki’s mind yelled.

 

“Saru,” His mouth said.  “Fushimi Saruhiko.  He’s not my friend.”

 

 _What the hell am I doing?_   Misaki asked himself dully even as the last of his anger faded and sullen exhaustion replaced it.

 

Sawada hummed in acknowledgement, still not turning around, but there was an air of _I’m listening_ around him.

 

Strangely enough, it was easier like that, and Misaki found himself talking before he could stop himself.

 

“Bastard walked out on m- on _us_ a year and a half ago,” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.  “Didn't even say anything before he up and joined Scepter 4.  This here-!”

 

Misaki yanked aside his collar and waited until Sawada had craned his head around before continuing, pointing at his HOMRA tattoo.  “This is HOMRA’s pride, and that damn monkey scratched his out!”

 

He dropped his hand and adjusted his shirt with a shrug of his shoulders, scuffing one foot against the floor in growing aggravation.

 

“He said he hates this Clan,” Misaki finished bitterly.  “Loathes it to its core.  And that he went to Scepter 4 to be something more than the punks and gangsters that HOMRA’s apparently made up of.”

 

A long silence ensued and Misaki fought against the urge to fidget.

 

“Well?”  He snapped when a minute ticked by without response.  “Aren’t you gonna say something?”

 

Sawada turned a thoughtful look on him, dropping his head into one hand as he rested an elbow against one of the crates he had wrapped up.  Misaki braced himself for sympathetic platitudes at worst and a brush-off at best.

 

“I had a group of friends once,” Sawada said, and Misaki blinked in confusion.  “Much like yours.  We became part of an organization, a bit like HOMRA.  However, one of my friends despised the organization, mostly for what it stood for back then, not to mention he wanted to use it to further his own goals.”

 

“And he betrayed you?”  Misaki guessed, more mesmerized than he would admit.  It wasn't every day that Kusanagi’s friend-from-nowhere talked about himself.

 

Sawada adopted an odd smile.  “Betrayed might be a bit too strong a word.  He wasn't like Fushimi-kun in numerous ways, the first being the fact that he and I started out as enemies.”

 

Misaki scowled at him.  “Which is it then?  Enemies or friends?”

 

Sawada’s smile widened.  “Enemies at first, and then friends later on.  Of course, it wasn't as easy as that.  He almost killed me and a few of my other friends the first time we met.  To be honest, I was downright terrified of him back then.”

 

Misaki stared incredulously at the older man.  “He almost killed you and then you became friends?  What the hell?”

 

Sawada snickered.  “It was... complicated.  After that first time, he helped us out of a sticky situation, partially for his own gain.  He alternated a lot.  Things came up, new people wanting to kill us came along, we got into more fights, and he became an enemy again.”

 

Misaki sweatdropped.  “Why didn't he just stick with one?”

 

Sawada shrugged.  “I’d like to think I had something to do with it.  The last time I really fought against him, he was more a... an opponent than an enemy.  After that, I talked to him and convinced him to work with me, and he agreed.  He’s threatened me with death quite a few times ever since but I think he was just bored.  I mean there’s only so many times you can listen to death threats before you stop freaking out about it.”

 

Misaki snorted.  “You've got weird friends.”

 

“Hmm,” Sawada nodded, a fond expression surfacing on his face.  “They're all absolutely insane.”

 

“Better than Saru,” Misaki grumbled.  “Bastard became an enemy the moment he even _thought_ about joining Scepter 4.”

 

“Can’t he be both an enemy and a friend?”  Sawada asked idly.

 

“No he can’t!”  Misaki barked.  “It’s either one or the other.  How do you know your so-called friend isn’t gonna stab you in the back one day if he’s already switched sides and threatened you so many times?”

 

Sawada quirked a tiny smile this time and merely said, “Because I trust him.  Because he’s shown to be a reliable friend, even if some of his actions did have ulterior motives.  And because I simply don’t want him to be my enemy.”

 

“That’s bullshit,” Misaki declared.  “Just because you don’t _want_ him to doesn't mean he isn’t.”

 

“One decides these things for themselves,” Sawada said, not minding Misaki’s judgment.  “If you decide that Fushimi-kun is an enemy, then he could renounce Scepter 4 tomorrow and come back to HOMRA and still be an enemy.  You’ll never fully trust him again unless you choose to, no matter what he does.”

 

Misaki’s brow furrowed, trying to makes sense of what the older man was saying.  He was beginning to realize that Sawada could be a cryptic bastard.

 

“...How would I _know_?”  He tugged at his hat uncomfortably.  “Even if I woke up one morning and _decided_ to forgive that damn monkey, how would I know I could trust him again?”

 

Because just saying something didn't necessarily make it true.  Misaki knew that firsthand, no matter how much he tried to deny it when it came to Saru.

 

Sawada jabbed a thumb against his own chest, right over his heart.

 

“Leap of faith,” The brunet said, and Misaki caught a flash of flame in typically brown eyes.  “Take a deep breath, count to three, and jump.  Forget all the complicated things and just go for it.”

 

Misaki twitched violently.  “...That’s not a reason; that’s a cop-out!  If you’re trying to sound like some wise guru, you failed.  Miserably.  Besides, I can throw gurus farther than I trust them.”

 

Sawada huffed a laugh.  “You’re no fun, Yata-kun.”

 

Misaki almost facepalmed.  Now the bastard reminded him of Totsuka.

 

“The only thing you need to decide,” Sawada continued on a more somber note that made Misaki pay attention.  “Is whether or not you value your friendship with Fushimi-kun more than his betrayal.  If you can’t let go of the bad blood between you, if you can’t let go of the past, then yes, you will stay enemies for the rest of your lives.”

 

Misaki flinched.  Quiet and evenly delivered, the words still sent a chill down his spine.   He and Saru had grown up together, had been friends long before they had even heard of HOMRA, which only made that damn monkey’s betrayal hurt even more, ditching Misaki after all they’d been through.

 

“Did Fushimi-kun leave just because he wanted to be something more than what HOMRA could make him?”  Sawada asked abruptly.

 

Misaki blinked.  “Yeah.  Crap of a reason.”

 

Sawada only looked speculative.  “Ne, Yata-kun, you admire Suoh-san a lot, right?”

 

Misaki drew himself up.  “Of course!  Mikoto-san is a great King!  I’d follow him anywhere!”

 

Sawada nodded as if Misaki had confirmed something.  “Ah, well, that might be the problem.”

 

Misaki frowned.  “What?  I don’t get it.”

 

The older man didn't clarify, smiling at him again and pushing off the crate he was leaning against.  “Figure it out yourself.  In the end, you should know Fushimi-kun better than anyone.”

 

Misaki scowled and pushed himself to his feet.  “Tch.  Fine, be that way.”

 

He glanced at the remaining three boxes that had yet to be wrapped (truth be told, he had only been wasting time so he wouldn't have to go back out so soon).  His mind involuntarily pulled up his recent encounter with Anna.  Had he bumped into her very hard?  God knew the girl was already kinda small for a nine-year-old, and _everyone_ was at least several times her weight.

 

“I’ll finish up here,” Sawada offered, inclining his head at the door.  “Anna-chan’s been carrying things in and out all day.  You could give her a hand.”

 

Misaki nodded appreciatively but paused in the doorway and glanced back over his shoulder, awkwardly shifting in place.

 

“Uh...” He gestured at his own cheek and mumbled, “Sorry ’bout that.”

 

Sawada looked surprised, but the expression rapidly faded into another smile.  “It’s alright.  I’ve had worse than a mere punch.”

 

Misaki nodded again and scooted out the door before he could get any more self-conscious.

 

His shoulders felt lighter though, and the simmering rage that he had been struggling with for days seemed to have at least diminished if not disappeared.  He’d never admit it, even on pain of death, but Sawada was a good listener.  The man’s advice might – _might_ – be worth considering as well.

 

He stopped again in the hallway five steps from the storage room, inhaling deeply before cringing.

 

Oh no – that was Kusanagi’s brand of cigarette smoke, and he wasn't so out of it as to not realize that the second-in-command hadn't been anywhere near the storage room since September.

 

Biting his lip, he sidled into the front of the bar, gaze automatically finding Kusanagi, but the blond wasn't even looking in his direction, conversing with Totsuka instead.  Maybe the bartender had just passed by earlier when Misaki had been outside?

 

He took the opportunity to slink out the front doors, almost crashing into Anna in the process.  This time, he caught Anna’s hunched shoulders and the annoyed tick of Bandou’s eyebrows as his fellow Clansman stopped behind their youngest member, but before either of them could do or say anything, Misaki clapped his hands together and bowed.

 

“I’m sorry I bumped into you earlier, Anna-chan!”  He blurted out hastily.  “I’ll be your pack mule for the rest of the day to make it up to you!”

 

A rather astounded absence of sound ensued, compelling Misaki to peek over at Anna.

 

“Wow, there’s a first,” Bandou muttered, and Misaki was instantly upright again, scowling moodily at him.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  He growled, but it was half-hearted at best.

 

Before Bandou could retort though, a small hand had caught the hem of his shirt, and Misaki swiftly looked down again, smiling crookedly when Anna handed him one of the bags she was carrying.  Without a word, he grabbed another two of the three out of the girl’s other hand as well, hooking them easily over his shoulder before slinging a gentle arm over her shoulders and leading her inside once more.

 

“Ow!”  He winced when he walked right into a finger that poked him hard in the forehead.  “What- oh.  Er... Kusanagi-san...”

 

The bartender wasn't quite glaring – Misaki was fairly certain Kusanagi had never glared a day in his life – but there was definitely something sharper behind the blond’s purple shades that made Misaki shift guiltily.  He hadn't _meant_ to attack Sawada, but his temper had gotten the better of him and he was almost one-hundred percent sure that the brunet had been goading him into it anyway.

 

But all Misaki received was a whack to the head before Kusanagi motioned for him to continue on his way.  Somewhat bewildered but not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Misaki beat a hasty retreat, ushering Anna along with him.

 

Kusanagi could be scarier than Mikoto on a good day.

 

**~~**

 

                “You’re an idiot,” Izumo announced as he stepped inside the storage room and closed the door behind him, locking it for good measure.

 

                “And you're an eavesdropper,” Sawada retorted without missing a beat, not bothering to turn around as he continued to work.

 

                Izumo rolled his eyes but didn't prolong the banter as he approached.  “Show me.”

 

                “Hmm?”  Sawada carried on working, back still turned.  “Show you what?”

 

                Izumo exhaled through his nose before pulling up a chair beside the brunet and knocking the first-aid kit he had brought against the man’s shoulder.  “Your hand – show me.”

 

                Sawada finally raised his head, and Izumo startled even himself when his jaw unconsciously tightened at the sight of the discoloured swelling on the shorter man’s left cheek.

 

                “Ah,” Sawada looked sheepish.  “You noticed.”

 

                Izumo didn't even bother replying to that, only taking off his sunglasses and tossing them onto a nearby crate before reaching out and snagging the brunet’s right wrist.  Sawada resisted for a brief second before relenting.

 

                The palm of Sawada’s hand was red and blistered, the skin stripped away after coming into contact with Yata’s Aura.

 

                “You’re an idiot,” Izumo repeated as he broke out the necessary medical supplies but ignored them for the time being and got to his feet instead.  “Up.  This used to be a bathroom so there’s still an old sink at the back.  Come on.”

 

                Sawada trotted after him, removing and pocketing the silver rings from his fingers and not even wincing when Izumo carefully stuck the injured appendage under the tap and cool water gushed out.

 

                “Doesn't it hurt?”  Izumo glanced sidelong at the brunet.

 

                Sawada tilted his head, features mostly blank.

 

                “...Yes,” He said after a moment, and then tacked on, “Ow.”

 

                Izumo snorted.  “Convincing.  But seriously, it should hurt.”

               

                Sawada shrugged, stilling again when Izumo shot him a reproachful look.  “I’ve had worse than a burn, Kusanagi-san, and this isn’t even that bad a burn.  You worry too much.”

 

                “Says the guy who ticked off one of the most impulsive people on the planet just so he’d stop taking out his frustrations on the rest of the Clan,” Izumo pointed out dryly.

 

                “ _You_ didn’t say anything,” Sawada said, and there was something resembling reprimand in his eyes.

 

                Izumo sighed wearily, peering down at the injury before shutting off the water.  “We usually just wait until this blows over.  Last year was worse when Yata went on a rampage through the city.  Scepter 4 only released him back to us without much of a fuss because their King’s got a head on his shoulders and knows how to use it.  Putting Yata in close quarters with Fushimi is just asking for something to happen – to this day, I still don’t understand why some of them decided that arresting Yata and handing him off to Fushimi to put in a holding cell was a good idea.  This year, we decided to keep him with us until the week is up.”

 

                “And talking never came up as an option?”  Sawada enquired wryly as Izumo steered him back to the front of the room.

 

                “Mikoto’s strongpoint has never been talking,” Izumo said matter-of-factly.  “That’s Tatara’s job.  And mine, to an extent, but when it comes to Fushimi, Yata’s never listened.”

 

                _Until you_ , Izumo added silently as he pulled out a roll of gauze bandage from the kit and began wrapping the wound.

 

                “There,” Izumoo tied a knot on the inside of the brunet’s wrist.  “Try not to use that hand for the next few weeks.”

 

                “Mm,” Sawada carefully contracted his fingers before lowering his hand into his lap.  “Thank you.”

 

                Izumo inclined his head in acknowledgement before sliding his sunglasses on again and packing away the medical supplies.

 

                “You can get this done one-handed?”  He asked, eyeing the last few containers critically.  “I could finish up-”

 

                “Nah, it’s alright,” Sawada waved at the door with his good hand.  “I can handle it.  You better head back out before someone breaks something.”

 

                Izumo grimaced because that was a very real possibility-turned-nightmare.  “Yeah, okay.  If you’re not done in ten minutes max, I’m sending Tatara back here to give you a hand.  Don’t push it – burns can get nasty.”

 

                Sawada made a sound of acceptance at the back of his throat and Izumo headed for the door.  Much like Yata had, he paused in the doorway and glanced back at the figure already getting back to work.

 

                “Thanks for talking to him,” He added quietly as Sawada turned to meet his gaze again.  “Yata can get a bit wild, and sometimes, even we can’t handle him.  HOMRA’s... well, Fushimi wasn't entirely wrong when he said that our Clan’s made up of punks.  With the exception of Tatara and Anna, fighting is what we do best.  Taming our members is rather counterproductive.”

 

                “Don’t tame them then,” Sawada countered plainly, turning away again.  “Let them run free, but teach them restraint.  Teach them when to draw the line, and that going over that line is unacceptable.”

 

                Izumo shifted, body half-turning back.  “Wouldn't that be taming them anyway?”

 

                “No,” Sawada straightened and his gaze cut across the room again, a glint of molten gold slipping into its depths.  “Because it’ll be their choice to hold back, their choice to show mercy.  Maybe they won’t want to, but they will, however reluctantly, because they believe it’s the right thing to do.

 

                “There’s a fine line though,” Sawada added almost as an afterthought.  “Between being merciful and being soft.  The latter shows weakness, the former shows strength.  Weak or kind - if your Clansmen can tell the difference, there might be less situations involving violent behaviour.”

 

                Sawada wasn't just talking about cases like Yata’s anymore, Izumo noted.  The showdown back in September hadn't happened solely because the yakuza wanted Anna.  The fight had screamed of revenge on the side, even if no one had actually said it.  More than once, HOMRA had stormed a yakuza headquarters in what their Clan termed as ‘Clan territory’ and beaten most of the thugs up, sometimes even killing them.  Granted, the gangsters were normally in the process of doing something illegal, but in the privacy of his own mind, usually ignored or rationalized away, Izumo had always questioned whether bulldozing down everyone in their way was the best idea.

 

                He sighed heavily, leaning tiredly against the door for a moment.  “‘Is it better to be loved or feared’, huh?”

 

                “Now you’re getting it,” Sawada smiled, but the expression held no humour, and his eyes had saddened.  “The second one’s safer, and easier.  But the problem with being feared is that the loyalty is shallow.  It only lasts until someone stronger comes along.”

 

                _And that’s our whole problem, isn’t it?_   Izumo thought ruefully.  _Some bastard’s handing out a power that none of us can properly defend against, and suddenly the Clans are Enemy Number One._

 

                “HOMRA’s nice though,” Sawada remarked with something close to admiration that sent a thrum of pride through Izumo.  “You're family, not just a Clan.”

 

                “That’s what we try to do,” Izumo agreed.  “Some of the others have less than satisfactory families or no families at all.  HOMRA gives them a place to call home.”

 

                Sawada didn't say anything this time, only nodding before reaching for the bubble wrap again, and Izumo departed a few seconds later, mind still pondering the brunet’s words.

 

                He stopped near the stairwell, glancing to the side at the dark alcove under the staircase.  “You realize that gets creepy sometimes, right?”

 

                Mikoto slanted a fleeting look in his direction but only shrugged in response.

 

                Izumo studied his best friend for a second, picking up what little nuances Mikoto’s body language showed.  “He’ll be alright.  Minor second-degree burn to the hand.”

 

                Mikoto grunted.  “You didn't cut in.”

 

                “Neither did you,” Izumo countered.  “I wasn't the only one standing outside the door.”

 

                Mikoto shrugged, pushing off the wall and prowling forward with a tiger’s lethal grace.  “Sawada handled it.”

 

                “Exactly,” Izumo nodded, though he had come very close to barging in when Yata had released his Aura.  The rare spike of irritation that had welled up in his chest hadn't gone away until Yata had apologized to Anna and Izumo had gotten a good whack in afterwards.

 

                He scrutinized Mikoto, recognizing the frown on the redhead’s face as one he always took on when deep in thought, and lifted the first-aid kit to Mikoto’s eye-level.

 

                “I’m going to put this away,” He said, and headed back to the front of the bar once Mikoto had nodded in acquiescence.

 

                As he stored the kit away, Izumo wondered if Sawada had known that Mikoto had been listening as well, and the things he had said to Izumo had really been for HOMRA’s King.

 

**~November, 13 th Day~**

 

                Reisi had no idea how he had ended up here of all places at eleven at night.  It couldn't be curiosity because, while there was some of that in this situation, he had never been ruled by personal interest.

 

                But the fact remained that his feet had somehow taken him here after a late night at work instead of back to his spacious apartment for a good night’s sleep.

 

                A gust of wind swirled past and Reisi burrowed deeper into his coat.  The nights were getting colder by the day, and there were no Clansmen around to act invincible commander to.

 

                “Good work today, Sawada!”

 

                “He always does good work, idiot!  It’s a wonder we ever managed to stay afloat without him around.  See ya tomorrow, Sawada-san!”

 

                “Mm, have a good night, Tsumura-san, Okuma-san.”

 

                Reisi said nothing as he watched the door of the diner slide open and the man he had been trying to figure out for the past few weeks step out.  He stayed motionless in the shadows cast by a nearby streetlamp, taking in the thin, shabby jacket that Sawada had thrown on to ward off the chill, as well as the hand currently swathed in distinct white bandages.

 

                For a moment, Reisi considered staying silent and allowing the brunet to pass without disruption.  He hadn't a clue what to say anyway – coming here wasn't something he had planned, which was highly out of character for him.

 

                The option was taken out of his hand when Sawada took two steps to the left and then stopped, head turning and gaze slicing through the darkness to seek out Reisi with disconcerting ease.

 

                “Hi there,” Sawada took a step in his direction, expression tired but polite.  “You’re... Scepter 4’s King, right?  May I help you?”

 

                Reisi frantically wracked his brain for something to say even as he stayed outwardly calm and moved forward.

 

                “My apologies,” Reisi started smoothly.  “I was taking a late-night walk and happened on this diner.  I just remembered you worked here when you came out.”

 

                He couldn't quite tell whether his half-lie had been believed but Sawada only nodded, absently pulling up the collar of his coat.  It didn't look like it helped much.

 

                In unspoken agreement, they fell into step with each other and headed down the street, neither wanting to stay still in the November weather.

 

                “...Before things get awkward,” Sawada spoke up first.  Reisi glanced sideways in time to catch the embarrassed smile on the brunet’s face.  “I'm going to have to ask for your name.  I don’t remember it.”

 

                Reisi stared for a few seconds and then had to fight a rising huff of laughter.  Well, this was new.  Even some civilians knew the name of Shizume City’s police force captain.  One would think that hanging around HOMRA would ensure that knowledge, if only because certain members of that Clan might be partial to cursing him out.

 

                “Munakata Reisi,” He revealed, and then added for courtesy’s sake, “And you are Sawada Tsunayoshi, yes?”

 

                “Yeah, that’s me,” The shorter man nodded.  They passed under another streetlight and the harsh fluorescent glow only served to highlight the bags under Sawada’s eyes and the exhaustion creasing his brow.  There also seemed to be a fading bruise marring the man’s left cheek.

 

                Reisi frowned surreptitiously.  Wasn't HOMRA all about family despite their many shortcomings?  He thought that Totsuka at least would be all over something like this.

 

                He gave himself a mental shake.  It was none of his business.

 

                “You work pretty late,” Sawada commented next.  “Scepter 4’s the police force around here, right?  Don’t you have people on night shift?”

 

                Reisi inclined his head.  “Yes, but unfortunately, the captain’s paperwork never ends.”

 

                To his surprise, Sawada instantly looked sympathetic to his plight, thorough understanding thrown into sharp relief.  “Ugh, paperwork – bane of all mankind.”

 

                Reisi couldn't quite suppress a smile this time.  “Indeed.  You’ve had experience with it?”

 

                Sawada’s grin held a measure of dread.  “I used to have a desk job of sorts.  No matter how much I finished, the paperwork just kept piling up and piling up until there were literally _stacks_ of the stuff on my desk.  Just looking at it made me want to jump off a bridge.”

 

                Reisi snorted rather inelegantly, resisting the automatic urge to check his surroundings to make sure none of his men were within hearing range.

 

                “I know the feeling,” He commiserated, thinking back to the _piles_ of desk work that Awashima couldn't seem to stop bringing him every time he turned around.

 

                They reached an intersection, and both of them stalled when they realized that the other was going the opposite way.

 

                “Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” Sawada said, turning to the right with a wave.  “It was nice meeting you, Munakata-san.”

 

                “Likewise,” Reisi returned, and before he could stop himself, he tacked on, “Do be careful around HOMRA, Sawada-san, if not because of their volatile natures then because the yakuza will most certainly attack them again.”

 

                Sawada stared intently at him for a long second, and for once completely out of his depth, Reisi had no idea what the man was thinking.  But the brunet only nodded his head and continued agreeably, “Aa, I’ll be careful.  Goodnight, Munakata-san.”

 

“Goodnight,” Reisi echoed, and while he turned away to the left, he also slowed his steps and peered back over his shoulder until Sawada disappeared into the night.

 

                Overall, it had been a rather bizarre night.  There had been absolutely no point in seeking out Sawada, and Reisi wasn't in the habit of acting without a point.  Yet he had done so anyway, unintentionally, and they had somehow-

 

                _Bonded over mutual hatred for paperwork,_ Reisi thought with mildly perplexed amusement as he made his way home, air fogging with every breath.

 

                He _had_ gotten something out of it though.  The spark of _powerstrengthauthority_ that he had sensed that day in the bar had smouldered like a tightly reigned inferno beside him all throughout their short walk together.

 

                (Not to mention Sawada’s personality hadn't really fit the interrogator’s account, but Reisi had already suspected that much.  No one that shocked and terrified would willingly put up with the same people who had gotten him into a dangerous situation with the yakuza in the first place.)

 

                If only Suoh had that control – it would be fewer headaches for everyone involved.

 

                Still, was that why HOMRA had taken such an interest in such a seemingly ordinary man?

 

                Briefly, Reisi considered putting a few tails on Sawada, but dismissed it again a heartbeat later.  He could already picture the devastation that would follow when – not if – HOMRA found out.

 

                With a sigh, he turned down his street and quickened his pace.  He had another long day at work to look forward to tomorrow.  He could think about this mystery at a later time.

 

**~November, 25 th Day~**

 

                “Kusanagi-san?  Anna-chan?”

 

                Izumo glanced up from his perch on a bike rack opposite the diner, Anna balanced beside him.  “Hey.”

 

                Sawada blinked owlishly at them, frame momentarily outlined by the light behind him before he closed the door.  The brunet only had time to sling his bag over one shoulder before Anna had hopped back onto flat ground and trotted forward to meet him.

 

                “Anna wanted to see you,” Izumo explained as he also pushed himself back onto his feet, a cigarette dangling between loose fingers as he rifled through his bag and drew out a scarf.  “And for God’s sakes, put this on.  It’s like you have a death wish or something.”

 

                Sawada looked somewhat bemused as he gave Anna a one-armed hug but obediently tucked the scarf around his neck and under the already zipped-up collar of his coat.  “Is something wrong?”

 

                Izumo arched an eyebrow, putting out his cigarette and tossing it into a nearby ashtray before stuffing his hands into his pockets as Anna tucked one of hers into Sawada’s good hand.  The burn was healing well but the injury was still tender.

 

                “I told you,” He reminded.  “Anna wanted to see you.”

 

                Sawada glanced down curiously at the girl walking between them.  “You saw me a few days ago, Anna-chan.  Did something happen?”

 

                Anna only shook her head minutely, tightening her grasp instead.

 

                “She missed you,” Izumo expanded.  “We don’t see you as often anymore.”

 

                Sawada shrugged, his free hand coming up to rub at his forehead as if trying to push away a headache.  “I said I’d cut back on the drinks.”

 

                “You could still come around,” Izumo half-admonished.  “Even Yata’s asked where you’ve been.  In his own roundabout way.  Only Tatara ever sees you for any length of time nowadays.”

 

                Sawada shot an apologetic look at him.  “I’ve been busy.  Took a few extra hours at the bookstore again.”

 

                Izumo said nothing for a moment, inhaling a lungful of smoke to occupy a few seconds.  If he opened his mouth now, he might say something along the lines of offering the brunet money, and not everyone took that well.  He had settled for shoving various pieces of clothing and necessities on Sawada instead as the weather steadily worsened over the past month.  At this rate, they would probably get quite a bit of snow this year.

 

                They walked in silence for the next several minutes, a rare moment of peace for Izumo who was surrounded by chaos most hours of the day.

 

                His gaze drifted lazily to the side, scanning their surroundings out of habit, and then did a subtle double-take when his eyes caught a dark shadow against a pale patch of skin, revealed when the scarf shifted with Sawada’s gait and the jacket collar fluttered open.

 

                That wasn't just a bruise, fresh and ugly, splotched against the base of the brunet’s neck.  That was a _goddamn_ _handprint_.

 

                Izumo gave himself a mental slap and yanked his gaze forward again.  Sawada had an almost sixth sense about people so much as glancing at him.  Staring for too long would undoubtedly attract attention.

 

                But that- Where had Sawada gotten that injury?  Far too recent to be anything leftover from the man’s encounter with Yata, and too brutal for anything Tatara could or ever would dish out to his mentor.

 

                What did that leave?  No scorned lovers, no estranged family, no vengeful friends, no particular enemies.

 

                Wait.  He wasn't quite sure about that last one.

 

                Enemies.  Did Sawada have enemies?  He recalled what he had overheard from the confrontation between Sawada and Yata a few weeks back – Sawada had had enemies once.  Whether he still did was another matter.

 

                Or...

 

                He chanced another glance at the injury but it was covered up again.

 

                Or it could be more yakuza who had seen Sawada spending time with HOMRA and had tried to attack him.  Izumo hadn't heard anything from Seri though, and Scepter 4 would be all over any unconscious thugs found in back alleys.

 

                Anyone would have a hard time getting the jump on Sawada, but if someone came at the man with those black flames...

 

                “I turn off here, Kusanagi-san,” Sawada said, distracting Izumo from his thoughts.

 

                “Ah,” Izumo nodded, taking Anna’s hand as the brunet passed the girl back to him.  “’Night then.  Come by the bar tomorrow.”

 

                Sawada hesitated but nodded in the end.  “I’ll come by at six.  Oh, do you want this back no-”

 

                “Keep it,” Izumo interrupted as Sawada made to unravel the scarf.  He paused, torn between wanting to call the brunet out on his injury and staying silent in case questions would only serve to make Sawada cover up any future wounds.

 

                “We’ll see you tomorrow,” He said at last, choosing the latter.  He needed to talk to Mikoto about this, weigh his options.

 

                Sawada smiled and nodded, waving at Anna before hurrying away down the street.

 

                “Flame,” Anna suddenly spoke up.

 

                Izumo glanced down at her.  “What was that?”

 

                Anna craned her head up to peer up at him with bright eyes.  “He has a beautiful flame.”

 

                Izumo blinked, baffled, but Anna said no more and he didn't press her.  Things Anna said usually made sense sooner or later.

 

                “Let’s go home,” Izumo said instead, somehow feeling more drained than a full day working at his bar and keeping order amongst his Clansmen.  “Mikoto will be waiting for us.”

 

**~November, 26 th Day~**

 

                “Someone tried to choke him, Mikoto.  I only caught a glimpse of his throat but I know what I saw.”

 

                Mikoto frowned heavily, staring up at the ceiling.  “...He hasn’t said anything about it?”

 

                Izumo shook his head.  “No.  I’m beginning to realize that he’s the type to take care of his own problems, or at least not ask for help until things become dire.”

 

                Mikoto mentally scoffed.  Attempted murder wasn't dire?

 

                Then again, he didn't think attempted murder was dire either, mostly because nobody had ever succeeded in getting close enough to him to do the deed before Mikoto had crushed them.

 

                “Do you want me to drop a word to Seri-chan?”  Izumo continued.  “I could ask her more thoroughly if she has anymore leads on the yakuza.”

 

                Mikoto closed his eyes.  Awashima had probably already told Izumo everything she could – anything she kept back would be confidential or simply unknown.

 

                “No,” He finally decided, but didn't clarify.

 

                Izumo released a long-suffering sigh.  “Alright, but Mikoto, I’m worried about this.  Sawada-san lives alone and works late.  Martial arts isn’t going to do much against a face full of those black flames.”

 

                Mikoto nodded in acknowledgement, not opening his eyes until Izumo had moved away.

 

                HOMRA owed Sawada Tsunayoshi.  _Mikoto_ owed Sawada Tsunayoshi, and he’d never been one to forget his debts.

 

                He grimaced inwardly.  He supposed it was time to bite down and pay Munakata a visit.

 

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